The Fall of The Sarafan
by Clement Rage
Summary: A look into the lives of the Sarafan Generals. Rating may rise. at the canon!
1. Introduction

**No, I still don't own lok.**

**Introduction**

None of the Sarafan generals so much as glanced up when Raziel walked in. Initially, there'd been massive complaints over the fact that Moebius wouldn't finance private rooms for each of the Sarafan Generals, when he had sprawling private apartments in the east wing of the fortress. After the fifth vampiric assassin, opinions had changed, and now they slept easier for hearing each other's breathing. If they wanted privacy, they went to their wives' rooms or ordered a lesser soldier to vacate his room for a few hours.

The room told a lot about its occupants. A chess set was gathering dust in a corner. They had played it incessantly a few years ago, but now they knew each other's styles too well, and any match they played would end in stalemate. There were also several packs of cards scattered around the room, and these were ragged with use. Rahab, Dumah, Zephon, Melchiah, and Malek were playing cards. Raziel sat down in Turel's recently vacated seat and picked up his hand, proceeding to almost manage to win the round, but Dumah eventually won out. Playing cards in this room was very educational to recruits. Sometimes the pillar guardians would sit in. And every single player was an experienced cheater. On one memorable occasion, when all players had been roaring drunk, the player's hands had became more and more extravagant, to the point where there was hands like Seven Lords. This was a remarkable achievement, considering a pack normally only had four lords. The game eventually had to be abandoned when a passing Sarafan soldier slipped in a cold deck. He was subsequently promoted to Knight, because men that clever were invaluable.

Another game started, but they quickly lost heart and gave up. They were all nervous. All along, there had been two reasons they hadn't been exterminated by the vampires. First, co-operation did not come naturally to vampires. In fact, the ideal world for a vampire is a world where all vampires more powerful than it are dead. Slaying powerful vampires one by one, the Sarafan had so far avoided contention. Secondly, vampires held humanity in contempt. They often disdained to fight human warriors except to feed.

But now, with only five Ancient Vampires still alive, the Sarafan had attracted notice. With five clans now allied, the vampires could now throw half the numbers of the Sarafan into the field. For vampires, those were good odds. Hopefully the pillar guardians would help tip the balance in favour of the Sarafan. And numbers were not the only improvement. Where, before, vampires would wander alone or in small groups, now they were acting in concert, hunting parties in groups of twenty or more. The vampires had realized they were being threatened, and finally, someone with a military mind was co-ordinating them. Five thousand vampires would attack the Sarafan keep within the next few days. As it was, only the brilliant military tactics of the Generals and Moebius had prevented obliteration.

Thirdly, Vampires had unusual minds. If you presented a vampire with a sixty foot oak door, bound in triple forged steel and magically reinforced, but gave him a reason to enter he would smash it down if it took years. But if you presented a vampire with a door made of spun glass, that was locked by means of a ridiculously complicated puzzle involving throwing huge blocks off cliffs and into slots in walls, the vampire would immediately attempt the puzzle instead of using a simple force projectile to destroy the door. It was now the law for every village to have at least one door locked by a puzzle, preferably a block puzzle. Often times the precious time it took the vampires to solve the puzzle was time in which the villagers could escape.

Throwing down their cards in disgust, they were about to disperse when a Sarafan soldier walked in and saluted.

"My Lords...Lord Dumah and Lord Malek are to report to Lord Moebius immediately."

"Thank you. You may go." Malek stood up and donned his helmet, Dumah only an instant behind. An unexpected summons at this time of day was seldom good news.


	2. Memories

**Memories**

As always, when he walked through the fortress, Dumah couldn't help admiring the effort that had gone in to building this fortress in less than a decade. When he'd first arrived, this fortress had been barely begun, the foundations barely laid, a fence of wooden stakes protecting it from attack. And the soldiers were well equipped but ill trained, with even an attack by half a dozen bandits not easily repulsed. Such humble beginnings. His own status, at the time, had been humbler still. A mere bandit, exiled from Willendorf for accidentally crippling a fellow soldier during a sparring session. He'd joined a group of bandits called the Exiles, and quickly risen in their rankings. There were more than a thousand Exiles, all banished from various military organizations for offenses ranging from cowardice and treason to, in the case of one unfortunate soldier, breaking into laughter at the wrong moment. Anyone attempting to join after an offense of deliberate murder or rape was not tolerated. Since several of the exiles had belonged to elite units, or had been in charge of training recruits, the level of skill among the exiles often surpassed existing armies. When the King of Willendorf had feared their growing power and sent an army to attack them, it had been smashed. Most of the survivors had joined the exiles. After that, as long as they kept their level of banditry reasonable, they were left alone.

But then the vampires had arrived. An entire clan, led by an adult calling himself Turo. They had slowly insinuated themselves into the exiles until they controlled them. Anyone who objected had been murdered. And then they had been ordered to step up their ambushes, in order to feed the vampires. If a vampire was not sated, he merely killed one of the exiles. And then...

_Dumah lay flat in his hiding place above the road. They'd received word that a small caravan escorting a diplomat would be passing on the road below, and Turo had decided it would be an excellent opportunity to give his three newest fledglings a chance to make their first kills. He was personally escorting the three fledglings, and, as always, whenever he left the camp he took the former leaders with him, unwilling to give them any chance to organize resistance.__ Turo assured him that if his clan sensed his death, they would start a slaughter back at the camp, so they could not kill him when he was alone._

_After several hours of waiting, the travelers hadn't materialized. They were just about to leave when two guards and an old man carrying a quarterstaff walked down the road. Two guards! Two! Even before the vampires had stepped up the amount of attacks, no one had been stupid enough to travel this road with only two guards._

"_Old fool." Turo remarked, laughing. He signaled the fledglings to attack._

_They lunged. The guards saw them coming -and fled. The old man stood his ground, drawing his quarterstaff with eerie speed and swinging it at the first vampire. Dumah had seen this done before. A quarterstaff was a formidable weapon, easily capable of cracking a skull or a jaw. But he'd never seen it remove a head._

_When they saw this, the other two tried to change direction mid leap. They crashed into each other and landed in a tangled heap on the ground. The old man drew a belt knife and removed their heads before they could rise._

_Turo shrieked with rage "Kill him! Kill him!" The six humans warily advanced. He stood calmly, waiting. Possibly nobody but professional soldiers would have seen him tense. Then he moved. Turel barely batted aside a belt knife flung at his head. Zephon parried a wicked thrust intended to smash a kneecap, but the old man drew back before any of the others could capitalize on him being overextended. His speed was eerie, as though he was manipulating time itself. But he was fighting six well trained men, and he couldn't attack any one for long without one of the others stabbing him in the back. He was no immortal, though, and eventually made a mistake. attempting an overhead slash at Turel, who shoulder charged him before the blow could fall. The old man was knocked flat, and lost his grip on the quarterstaff. Dumah wasted no time in kicking it away. Again their quarry moved with unnatural speed for his age, but the six soldiers moved fast too, and as he rose to his knees he found six blades at his throat. Sighing, he raised empty hands._

"_Good." Turo said, rising from his hiding place. "Old man, you cost me three valuable fledglings, and you shall rue their deaths. Bring him." They bound him hand and foot and kept blades at his throat for the entire return journey. Only once did he show distress. Turo tried to take his staff. Not the iron shod one he'd used to fight, but a decorative thing, adorned with an orb._

"_Sir, you would not part an old man from his walking stick?"_

"_I saw what you can do with such a stick, old man."_

"_My name is Moebius. And that staff is a delicate thing, useless as a weapon. If I hit you with it, it would shatter. But it was a gift from ...a friend, and I do not wish to be parted from it in my last hours."_

_Turo considered. And, in a decision considered by the humans to be unfathomably foolish, he replied "Very well." And from that moment his fate was sealed._


	3. Forebodings

_Yes, I will be going back to the Turo story arc, but not for the moment._

**Forebodings**

Dumah was jerked abruptly out of his memories when they arrived at Moebius' apartments. There were voices inside.

"No! I will not! Not this time!" Moebius' voice. Dumah and Malek exchanged surprised glances. He never sounded that distressed, not even when they'd fallen into that nest of Fire Demons.

"You know what happens to servants who disobey." This was a new voice, deep and powerful. Something heavy hit the door. Moebius screamed.

"You will do as you are commanded!"

"I thought you were the hub of the Wheel." Moebius noted, now with an enraged edge under the desperation. "Nothing can act without your blessing; therefore my very rebellion is at your behest, to suit some purpose of your own. Unless you are less powerful than you would have me believe, perha-" He cut off in another scream. Dumah and Malek charged the doors. They opened on the second impact. Moebius looked up.

He was on his hands and knees, in the centre of the room, alone. The windows were shut, and there was no afterglow of teleportation magic.

"Why are you here?"

"You called us, m'lord. What happened here?" Malek spoke first, visibly gathering his courage, but speaking nevertheless. Dumah didn't dare.

"I did not. What did you hear?"

"You...arguing with some other. He was commanding you to obey."

"You could hear him?"

"...Yes."

"Then my rebellion was at his behest." Moebius murmured, not speaking to them any longer. "Telepathic speech is not heard when you do not wish it to be." He gathered his thoughts. "As you are here, regardless of who summoned you, I must speak to you. When the vampires attack this fortress, I will not be with you, and neither will my legion. We will hold back, for gathering survivors once the battle is won...and it will be won! I have foreseen this."

"This smells of treachery, Moebius. Perhaps you serve a new cause now? Perhaps the 'hub of the wheel', as you call him, is a vampire, merely wishing to slay his rivals without notice."

"Do not think such thoughts have not occurred to me, Malek! Do you think I obey blindly? My God is no vampire! The Chronoplasts have shown me as such!"

"Then show them to me also! Restore faith in me! I will not lead soldiers to their deaths for no purpose! Show me that you are not leaving us to our doom! I will not trust in the word of a God you have moments ago rebelled against and now sing the praises of!" Dumah stared. Malek, faithful Ward of the Circle, accusing Moebius of treachery? All might think it, yet few would dare to voice their claim. And here was Malek, the true Malek, the man feared by all foes of the circle, giving voice to it in tones of ringing command. Moebius recovered quickly.

"You dare accuse me of treachery? Me, without whom this order would not exist? Why would I create it only to destroy it? I have devoted my existence to the Sarafan! Not even for a God would I unmake it! But, since you doubt me, come! Come, look upon the future, see the outcome of this battle! And when you see your error, you shall _beg my forgiveness! _Know this, Malek, there will be a price for this impertinence!"

Malek did not flinch under this tirade, but merely stated levelly "It shall be paid."

"Have a care, Malek!" Dumah whispered, alarmed.

Moebius stepped forward and teleported himself and Malek. Dumah was left standing alone in the empty apartments. Minutes later, they returned. Dumah opened his mouth, but Moebius cut him off.

" No, the rest of you shall make no demands of me. One legion shall still abstain from battle. But, to reassure you, it shall not be mine. I and my legion shall ride in the van."

Malek left, with Dumah supporting him. "No one else would have dared to do such a thing, Malek. Our thanks."

Grey faced, Malek replied "I find myself unable to believe what I just did."

"We must tell people of this."

"That our leader serves a God? We cannot. The Sarafan would splinter, and with an army of vampires about to attack, we cannot afford this. We must keep his secrets, whether we wish it or not."

Dumah sighed. "An unenviable position, mine, but less so than yours. His price will be high."

"I know, but I could not fail to ask. My life weighs heavily, but not so heavily as thousands."


	4. Attack

**The Attack**

Lying in the shade of a rock above the soon to be battlefield, Turel sighed. How typical that he had drawn the short straw, and would be the legion holding back today. It wasn't that he particularly liked desperately fighting for his life in a melee with powerful beasts literally howling for his blood, but he didn't like to be the only banner not on the field. An uninformed observer would assume he had gotten lost or fled. Of course, any uninformed observer in a position to watch the battle was either criminally stupid or insane or both, and thus their opinion could be safely discounted, but still, it galled.

Examining the banners of the Vampire Clans facing the Sarafan army, he noticed one conspicuously absent. Audron. Of course, that was not actually particularly surprising, as Janos never left his retreat except to feed, and then infrequently, but Vorador's banner was present. That was unusual. The four other surviving Ancient Vampires were all present. With several fledglings raised especially for this battle for use as fodder, coupled with the absence of Turel, the Sarafan army seemed pitifully small. Then he realized this was more than an optical illusion and began counting banners.

_Here_- was Mortanius, tall and imposing in his death mask.

_Here_- was Moebius, less impressive, surrounded by a mere dozen guards, the staff in his hand more protection than the rest of the army combined.

_Here_- was Malek, spear shouldered and seeming almost bored by the display.

_Here_- was Arrel, Mind Guardian.

_Here_- was Tarracia, Dimension Guardian.

_Here_- was Medion, Energy Guardian.

_Here_- was Raziel, studying the opposing army careful-no. He wasn't wrong. The States, Nature, and Balance Guardians were missing. Odd.

Both armies began forming up, with Thralls and fledglings as fodder on one side, demons and zombies for the other. The four Ancient Vampires, flying back and forth exhorting their soldiers, alighted behind the army and signaled the advance, while the adult vampires launched projectiles from behind. Most of them were aimed at Moebius, whose staff was blazing like the sun. A legion of thralls immediately charged his dozen soldiers, but the rest of Moebius legion immediately barred their way. Moebius and his bodyguard charged around the battlefield and in a circle around him, vampires fell like wheat before a scythe.

Mortanius, positioned to the rear of the Sarafan army, casually exploded with lightning bolts any opponent who came near, all the while raising more soldiers from their rest to join the fray.

Nearby, Medion and Arrel launched projectiles at the vampire captains. One such struck an Ancient, who collapsed bonelessly, wreathed in flame. His children then inundated Medion with Force projectiles, shattering bone with the impact. He collapsed, and was carried to safety by his legion.

At this point Turel was distracted as a scream reached his ears. Snatching up the nearest weapon to hand, he was on his feet just as he was attacked. By Thralls bearing the Audron banner.

- - - - - - -

Malek dodged aside from the wild slash of his opponent, then spun and delivered a counter slash that removed the creature's head from the mouth upwards. Using the falling body as a shield from his next attacker, he darted around the other side and removed its arm. Leaving the screaming vampire for the men behind him to deal with, he broke clear of the melee, ducking as force projectiles targeting his distinctive armour shot past. A man behind him was struck in the face, and there was an audible crack as his neck snapped. Stepping back to fill the gap, he ordered his legion to fall back. Although huge numbers of fledglings were falling to them, by the time they reached the adult vampires, they would be exhausted.

All around him, the other Sarafan Generals were coming to the same conclusion. They were falling back. When the clouds broke, the fledglings would be incinerated, and the Sarafan could launch a counterattack. Until then, it was better to conserve their losses. But...this would be considered a lost battle, and heads would drop. People would believe that they had fled barely ten minutes into a battle. They would lose heart, logical decision or no. He had to give them something to boast of, to convince them that today had not been a waste of effort. At least one powerful vampire had to be defeated.

Stepping back three ranks deep into his legion he scanned the battlefield.

_Ah...there. _Vorador was standing on a small knoll, his children arrayed in a neat phalanx behind him. He would not be an easy mark. But Malek had little choice.

The energy wave mowed down every fledgling between knoll and legion. Vorador saw it coming and leapt aside, but the two females behind him did not react so quickly. Drawing his sword, he led his children towards Malek's legion, who were charging into the gap. Since no Sarafan soldier wished to combat a vampire Lord as renowned for using weapons as for making them (which was a high compliment for a former Serioli), and no fledgling wished to face an equally renowned fighter who could match most vampires strength for strength, Vorador and Malek were left with a clear space around them.

"An impressive charge, Malek. Such a tragedy your effort shall be wasted."

"Do you believe so? If I am to die, it will do you no harm to enlighten me as to who is commanding your modest army. Or are you not so confident as you would have me believe?"

"A clever trick, Malek. Either I admit lack of confidence or I reveal knowledge. I shall not fall into that snare. Perhaps I command, or Janos? Or some other, unknown to you. It matters not."

Malek laughed. "You, Vorador? You are a blacksmith, not a general. You could not lead sheep."

Vorador's face tightened and suddenly he lunged. Malek parried the strike, but instead of counterattacking, pulled back, allowing Vorador's momentum to carry him forward and slashing at his legs as he hit the ground. Sidestepping this, Vorador turned to face him.

Because they were facing each other, their backs were to the opposing army, who were not too awed to take advantage of it. Reversing his grip on his spear, Malek thrust backwards, impaling the first vampire fledgling, and cutting in half another two attackers with a spinning slash. He didn't see what Vorador did to his attackers, but when he turned there were two Sarafan corpses on the ground. They both lunged again, and this time Malek drew first blood, a light gash in the forearm that quickly healed as Vorador countered with a Blood Gout that hit Malek in the shoulder, but slid off his armour. After another clash, they were back among their own troops. Malek's second energy wave was again dodged by Vorador, but mowed down hundreds of his children. As he landed, Malek swept his feet from under him with his spear haft, before spinning it and thrusting it point down into...the ground, actually. Hundreds of bats were fleeing the field. Cursing, Malek turned back to his legion. It was still a victory, whether Vorador lived or no. Now he just had to find a way to get back to safety through the thousands of fledglings who had filled the gap between the knoll and the rest of the Sarafan army. He knew the Sarafan order would survive this day, thanks to Moebius, but that did not mean his legion would not be massacred. Another energy wave, if he could summon the strength, would cut them a path, but would also hit Sarafan soldiers ahead of him, perhaps slaying many. But his legion was surrounded, and he had to find an escape.

There was nothing. The only option was to fight valiantly until they were overwhelmed or unless another legion came to their rescue.

As though to contradict the thought, it started to rain. And thus came salvation.


	5. Counterattack

**The Counterattack**

Although the rain was little more than drizzle, fledglings fell in their thousands, wailing as their skin burned away. Turel's legion was still engaged with Audron's thralls, however, so there was nothing to halt the retreat of those adults unable to Teleport. Wishing to fell at least one Vampire captain before dusk fell, Moebius threw his staff like a javelin, aiming for a fleeing Ancient. He missed, but his target dropped like a stone as soon as it came into range of the staff's incapacitating effect, where it was hacked to pieces before it could rise. But Moebius was now bereft of his staff, and had merely a dozen guards. Seeing this, the two surviving Ancients flew at him like arrows. They struck him in the chest, knocking him senseless, and one proceeded to maul him to the best of his ability while the other killed all who came near. With incredible vision and accuracy, Mortanius impaled one on a lightning bolt from across the battlefield, who was finished off by the two survivors of Moebius' guard. The other Ancient, seeing this, teleported away, his work done.

Realising they were losing, all vampires capable of teleportation did so. The adults incapable of such fled on foot. Turel's legion, now free of the Thralls that had been attacking, flowed down to block their escape. Malek's legion, was the most damaged, and thus it returned to the others and began slaughtering fledglings wounded from the rain. The other charged the survivors, greatly outnumbering them. But the vampires knew that there was no quarter in today's battle, and fought with savage desperation which, coupled with vampire strength and agility, could yet win the day.

Raziel's legion reached Moebius first. With two shield bearing Sarafan holding off the vampires, Raziel retreated from the front line of his legion and knelt next to Moebius and his two guards, flinching as he surveyed the damage. Several of his organs and bones were visible through mangled skin and flesh. The damage was completely irreparable, even for a vampire, never mind an elderly human. The fact that he was still alive, never mind conscious, was a miracle in itself.

Moebius smiled up at him weakly. "Have you ever...heard the term, time heals all wounds? Help me sit up." Raziel obliged, wincing as vital organ pieces shifted. Moebius closed his eyes. The wounds vanished. It wasn't the accelerated healing of a vampire, no wound closing rapidly, but actually vanishing, instantly replaced by unbroken skin. Moebius subsequently collapsed, and Raziel told off a bodyguard to take him back to the fortress, knowing many of them would die as vampires attacked Moebius while he was vulnerable. Tasks done, he brought his legion back into combat, running at their van.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Zephon moved three ranks deep into his legion, allowing others to kill the surviving vampires. It wasn't cowardice. They had just won a decisive victory today, and if a Sarafan General died unnecessarily, it would result in a huge loss of morale for their legion that they didn't need. He could see Raziel running ahead of his troops foolishly, bearing down on a familiar banner. A very familiar banner...

_Him._

"Hold!" Zephon screamed suddenly, over the sounds of battle. "Hold, Raziel! That one is mine!" If Raziel heard him, he gave no sign, and probably wouldn't care if he had. In the Sarafan, they had no time for personal grudges. It was the first thing you were told. It was a good rule. He couldn't just abandon his legion.

Raziel might not have heard, but the subject of the call did. The vampire looked up, saw Zephon, and smiled, veering his legion towards him. Raziel, not wishing to leave a huge gap in the Sarafan lines, was forced to remain where he was. Finally recognizing the banner, he caught the eye of the other General and gave a 'Good luck' salute. In spite of his own earlier thoughts, Zephon began pushing through his legion to reach the battle line, but good sense held him back behind the front line, in the second rank from it. The vampire he knew gestured, and suddenly the air was full of telekinetic projectiles, and then he stood alone. The leading vampire walked out in front of his troops and began circling, fangs bared. It was customary to exchange taunts before engaging in single combat, but Zephon had no desire to bandy words with this monster, and by the time the vampire started to speak he was already skewered. His face a picture of disbelief, the vampire tried futilely to remove the blade from its chest, still trying to speak as his fledglings charged to save him. Standing his ground as his own legion charged to save _him_, Zephon locked eyes with the vampire, not caring if he died as long as his opponent died first.

"You...you...cheat!"

Zephon laughed, pretending calm. _The nerve _of the creature, accusing another of trickery! "You shouldn't have massacred that village, Zarlin. You knew I'd find you."

"The fault...lies with you...for...leaving them...so unprotected. Killing...me will not alter that."

"No...but at least it grants me some measure of satisfaction." And with that he withdrew the blade, spun, and neatly removed the head with a single stroke. Then the fledglings reached him, and in the desperate fight for his life he could forget the guilt that was ever present in his heart. Not for failing to protect them, but for what came after.

- - - - - - - - -

With their best generals dead or fled, and with Zephon's defeat of a legion in a pivotal position, the vampire resistance began to crumble, slowly condensing until legions were fighting each other in an attempt to flee, clawing at each other. Their resistance completely collapsed as the clouds suddenly drew together over the main knot of vampires and increased in volume in a way that was not natural, and Turel suddenly realized what the missing Pillar Guardians had been doing. A single shower of rain had turned an impossible situation into the single biggest victory in the history of the Sarafan order. The few surviving vampires knew that no quarter would be given, and some even managed to escape as Sarafan soldiers were reluctant to risk their lives unnecessarily. So Raziel, Turel, Dumah, Rahab, Zephon, Melchiah and Malek led them in one last victorious, exhausted charge, massacring the last few terrified, desperate, doomed creatures still standing. Then the cry of victory rose, and the exhausted Sarafan armies trudged back to their fortress, and except for a handful of unlucky guards, fell into long, deep, recuperative slumber.

* * *

_For future reference, what exactly are the Sarafan Generals weapons? I can't remember, which was why I was vague on their weapons in the story so far. Please review. More on what happened to Zephon later_. 


	6. Negotiations

_Wow, it's been a while. Decided I was neglecting my lok fics, hence wrote this__. Nothing much happens in it, but I'll start moving into the canon soon. Enjoy._

**Negotiations**

As the officer in charge of security today, Melchiah was the last into the room as he ensured the garrison was alert against trickery. The killing fields had been greatly expanded after the battle, and sensing massacre, the vampires had appealed for talks. Moebius had counseled against this, but for once his opinion was overruled by a unanimous vote from the other Pillar Guardians, on the grounds that it would not appeal to the masses if the Sarafan appeared merciless.

The spokesvampire for the invaders had been chosen by their usual policy of 'the bravest, most disposable hero in the land.' The ambassador was barely out of fledglinghood, and his honour guard of twelve was fledglings in truth. Although young, his disdain for humanity had been apparent from the first. He had no authority, and was simply a method for the vampires to leave the field unpursued. Any agreement he made would not be binding. Or so the vampire hierarchy thought.

The Ambassador, after delaying until all humans were present, flung the doors of the chamber wide and stalked inside, moving with the unconscious grace of his kind. Unfortunately, the doors, although heavy, were well engineered and he used more force than was actually necessary, causing the doors to ricochet off the walls and hit the first two members of his honour guard squarely in the face as they entered.

A series of sudden, violent, coughing fits, the origin of which were never ascertained, briefly overcame every human in the room. Not attuned to the nuances of human emotion, the vampire glared around the room angrily, attempting to stare down all the others, before realizing the futility of this and assuming his seat with what remained of his dignity. As the spearhead of the Sarafan, Malek was the one to welcome the negotiators to the table.

"Welcome, ...honoured ...vampires, to our stronghold. I hope you find your rooms to your taste?"

"I would, if they were not situated underwater. Such an arrangement is...uncomfortable."

"Alas, those are our guest rooms. Many human dignitaries enjoy the view. Rest assured, you are quite safe. Also, we would not wish for you to succumb to the urge to go hunting, and thus jeopardize our fragile truce. As I understand it, blood thirst is...compelling."

"...Indeed. Shall we begin?"

"In a moment. We have...precautions to take. Arrel?"

Arrel stood, and the vampires were suddenly nervous.

"What is this?"

"It is important that this treaty, should we reach one, is justifiable, is it not? Arrel is merely ensuring that all in Nosgoth know what agreement we come to, and that coercion was not used in the outcome."

The Pillar Guardians, Malek included, began chanting "Pillars of Nosgoth, we beseech you, let all in Nosgoth be aware of this chamber, so that none here be accused of duplicity." Arrel began glowing white, and, miles away, the Mind Pillar did likewise. All across Nosgoth, life came to a standstill, as all creatures, even those without intelligence, were immobilized by the images broadcast into their minds, of the chamber deep within the Sarafan Citadel. The images continued broadcasting as The Pillar Guardians returned to their seats. Malek grinned. It was a dangerous ploy, as if the Sarafan did use duplicity, all would know of it, but it meant that any treaty forged by this fledgling with no authority would be known to all, and thus difficult for the higher vampires to disobey easily without destroying their image as noble creatures under a curse, and if they did, in doing so they would hand the Sarafan a massive propaganda weapon, resulting in a huge increase in their numbers.

"So, shall we begin?"

" O..Of course. After you."

"Very well. Our foremost objection to your kind is the simple fact that they commit murder. This is not something to be encouraged."

"Humans commit more murders in wars over land lasting hours than our race as a whole does in centuries. We kill to survive, you do not."

"Oh? According to our archives, you once launched a genocidal war against a race, unprovoked. Since they are no longer visible, we must assume that you have succeeded."

"I...was unaware of that. In any case, it is irrelevant to our current discussion. We have not made war upon your kind, we merely kill what we need to survive."

"You do not need to kill, you need _blood._ There is a difference. Why kill, when you can take what you need without doing so?"

"It is quite difficult to convince people to remain still while you drink" the ambassador noted, now sounding amused. Malek was forced to concede the point. "You avoid my question. What is so repugnant of us killing to survive, where you kill without cause? The Sarafan has massacred thousands."

"Only in justice. We protect our people."

"Who decides what justice entails? You. Others may have different views." The pillar guardians were now seeing a new reason for the youth of the fledgling. He was clearly highly intelligent, and among vampires, looking powerful was not conducive to longevity.

"Do your Ancients not protect their children, when they are attacked? I make no excuses for the greed of human monarchs, but we protect, we do not oppress." Malek seemed very articulate, Melchiah noted with interest. He had been expecting Moebius to speak for the Sarafan, but was now beginning to see Malek had been chosen correctly. Understandably, Moebius was an object of some distrust for vampires, where Malek was merely seen as his faithful dog, an object of occasional wariness, perhaps, but largely contempt.

"Oh? I remember occasions where undisciplined Sarafan soldiers were accused of massacre, lynching, and rape."

"And all were heavily punished. Absolute control is impossible, but if you looked at other armies, such as Willendorf, you will notice that such occasions are far more widespread in his army than in ours."

"Absolute control is impossible? Why- Ah, yes, a weakness of your kind. Vampires are more amenable." The casually thrown insult slid off Malek without making any impression whatsoever. The vampire continued speaking.

"Yet, you still cannot deny that we kill to survive. It is unjust to kill us because of our nature."

"It is in the nature of a wolf to kill sheep, but when a shepherd sees a wolf attacking his flock, he must kill it" Mortanius pointed out suddenly. Melchiah blinked, and glanced at Moebius, lying on a litter nearby as he remained weak, mouthing '_Shepherd? Mortanius?'_ Moebius gave one short nod, before returning his attention to the table.

"Then there is no agreement we can come to. We cannot stop killing, or we will starve, and yet that is clearly a requirement of any treaty you can devise. I see your logic, but we are unable to comply. I am genuinely sorry." The vampire rose and turned to leave.

"Wait. Perhaps we could come to some arrangement." Surprise resonated around the chamber. _Malek,_ showing mercy to a _vampire?_

"Such as?"

"Criminals, perhaps?" Nearby, Moebius was white with rage at the thought of mercy to the vampires, but was wise enough not to speak. The vampire laughed.

"A noble effort, but a futile one. Our high vampires would not consent to preying on your undesirables. In any case, I believe that news of such a proposal would dramatically reduce the amount of criminals available before we drank a drop, and to a level where our race could not be sustained."

"True," Malek said almost sadly. "Then we meet in war."

"We meet in war. Although I hope I do not meet _you. _I fear I would soon fall."

This time Malek was the one to laugh.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Farewell."

The vampires departed. Malek sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"Am I to lead a fresh campaign against the last vampires?"

Moebius indicated he was correct.

"Give him time to return to his fellows, and then order the advance." Donning his helmet, Melchiah left to execute the order.


	7. Resignation

**Resignation**

Time passed. Vampires died. Sarafan died. But vampiric opposition had been crippled by the disastrous battle, and now they could do little. Those few who survived did so by fleeing to remote locations inaccessible to large forces. And most Sarafan were more or less happy to see them stay there. Most in the order took the view that their goal was to protect the people, as opposed to genocide.

The vampires made occasional forays into Sarafan territory on rare occasions, but each time they were met with force and were forced to withdraw quickly. Their opportunities to feed were thus limited, their only sustenance coming from their worshippers, who simply did not contain enough blood to satisfy the entire race. The only vampire strongholds of note in the land were Vorador's, deep in treacherous forest, and Audron's. Audron, although he alone had a truly impenetrable fortress, for some reason refused to shelter others of his race, although he occasionally sent Thrall raiding parties to kidnap humans for them. Vorador sheltered as many as he could, but many refused, given the treacherous conditions around his manor, convinced he would simply betray them. In Malek's opinion, Vorador understood the need to forego petty rivalry for the sake of his race, but that seemed incomprehensible to other high vampires.

The Sarafan grew in power. The Generals eventually managed to convince the pillar guardians to limit their growth, as if they were seen to grow too powerful, the people would turn against them, leaving them with possible rebellion, and thus a platform for the vampires to stage resurgence. By definition, the Sarafan order was a crusade, not a quest for power. So recruiting parties were suspended for the present.

Vorador's manor should have been accessible, but conditions made it difficult to strike in force. Moebius convinced them that it was better to stay their hand, in order for as many vampires as possible to gather there, before they struck. Vorador was intelligent enough to be wary of the Sarafan, enough that no hunting parties were directly traceable to his home, so they did not have a pretext for a strike. It was amazing how many humans supported the parasites that preyed on them, viewing them as noble creatures cursed. Some would even _volunteer_ to be fed from!

One particular day, Turel was sparring with three lowranking Sarafan soldiers. He had allowed them to use real blades, claiming if they could cut him he deserved to bleed. So far, the claim was justified, and his light wooden spear had disarmed two and he was bearing down on the third when the messenger arrived. That was unusual, and he found his eyes flicking to rooftops. Moebius was known to hire assassins in order to keep his army from becoming complacent, also serving the dual purpose of cutting down assassin numbers.

The messenger was summoning him to Moebius' apartments. That was unusual. They had perfectly good briefing chambers for receiving orders. If he was summoning them to his actual rooms, it meant he wanted to say something privately. Which usually meant something he'd seen in the Chronoplast portals.

Taking advantage of his distraction, the Sarafan soldier lunged, and only years of attempted assassinations allowed Turel to avoid being impaled. _Impaled,_ not merely embarrassed. Spinning, he snapped the light staff he was using off the head of his attacker, a strike that should have been incapacitating but wasn't. The assassin drew back for a second lunge, but by this time the other two Sarafan had retrieved their blades and sank them deep into his back, into the weak points in the armour as they'd been trained. Allowing himself a brief flicker of pride –few of their rank could be expected not to hesitate in that situation-, he scanned the shadows a second time, he removed the helmet of his attacker with the two halves of the staff, revealing a face that instantly burst into flame on contact with the sunlight. A vampire? In daylight? It had long been pointed out that some helmets were easy for disguise, but it was difficult to justify to soldiers when they were fighting vampires, why they should have an unprotected throat. With good reason.

Retrieving his spear from where it was leaning nearby, he left for Moebius' apartments, leaving the corpse where it lay. The cleaning staff was well acquainted with such messes. Perhaps uniquely in any military force in history, the equipment of the cleaning staff in Sarafan fortresses included a mace. Some vampires had the irritating habit of not staying dead.

Reaching the apartments, he found the other generals, including Malek, already assembled. Conversation revealed that each had had an assassination attempt in the last three days. This caused tension, as it implied that other officers and possibly pillar guardians were in danger. Mortanius was far beyond the ability of any assassin, but the others? Even Moebius was vulnerable without his staff. And the staff was just another weapon to a non-vampire attacker. A professional thief had once stolen it, holding it to ransom for a substantial sum, which had been paid, as the Sarafan's efficiency was highly impaired without it.

Eventually, Moebius bade them to enter, damp and attended to by two beautiful female bath attendants, but fully clothed and not actually submerged. Odd how even the most powerful had vices. Understandable, perhaps. Pillar guardianship was notoriously lonely. You had to watch your children die centuries before you.

After brief greetings, Moebius did not waste time.

"I have seen something in the Chronoplast portals of interest to you. Soon, we may have the opportunity to strike at Janos Audron at last." They waited. There was more, or he would have told them that in the council chambers. "There is a high chance of success, but if we do so..." He hesitated, a nervous pause. That was interesting. He sometimes paused for dramatic effect in speeches, but seldom from nerves. "If we do so, the action will lead directly to the deaths of all of you in revenge. I cannot order you to die...but I ask it nonetheless."

Turel had not been present when Dumah and Malek had stood here not long ago, and thus was mystified by the suspicion in the glance exchanged between the two.

"How so?" Dumah's tone, like his face, was not kind. Moebius glanced up, startled by anything less than instant acquiescence.

"How so?"

"Yes, how so? How will slaying Audron lead to our deaths? Vengence? Can you not protect us with your foresight?"

"No. As the Time Streamer, I am bound not meddle with its flow. I can no more change your fate than I can mine."

"What fate?"

"Mine? To be beheaded by a vampire some five hundred years from now. Yours? To be murdered by his eldest child, who discovers a means of returning hence from some three millennia in the future."

"So...you lied to us. You told us your crusade would see the end of the vampires." All six generals were no having difficulty holding back the urge to skewer him where he stood.

"I did not lie. That same child will slay the vampire that murdered me, along with every other vampire in the land. He will set up his own empire if I let you survive, and the only way to stop him is to let him slay you. If I could see an alternative I would seize it. But history is immutable. It overrules the efforts of any to bring change. If I shielded you from the assassin, sooner or later the Timestream would bring the same circumstances to pass. Only those without knowledge and in their natural time can substantially change history. I? I may watch and manipulate, but never can I act. Never! Do you know how it feels, to long foresee disaster and be helpless? Do you? To quote the vampire who will murder me, only when you have felt the full gravity of choice should you dare question my judgement! And not even then will you know the pain of the full gravity of lack of choice, of acceptance!" Moebius was weeping now. The seven generals remained skeptical. They were talking to a man infamous for his acting.

"And why must we die?"

"Because...the child that will slay you will be one of you, resurrected as a vampire in centuries time." All seven of them lunged for him. Dumah arrived first, picking him up easily by the throat.

"You betray us...I should nail you to that wall." In a whisper, he added "For the sake of your god, Moebius? Did you not learn from the fall of the Ancients?"

"You should kill me...but you won't, and I live to regret this moment for the rest of my existence." Moebius looked defeated, and incredibly tired. Knowing it was probably a façade, Dumah was nevertheless moved. This was a man who could inspire a large group of bandits to rise and conquer innumerable clans of the most individually powerful race in existence. He threw him aside forcefully in disgust. Moebius hit the tiled wall and went limp. The two bath attendants smiled... and their pointed teeth had just time to register before each lunged for the prone form. And fell with at least two weapons through each. Both were tossed into the nearby baths before the weapons were withdrawn.

The generals exchanged glances. Vampire assassins as _bath _attendants? In rooms with pools of water in each? Where they would be expected to handle it? That was...idiocy, and therefore genius. It was so ridiculously unlikely to succeed that it almost had. Most soldiers...used the...

Before the thought was even finished, they were running to raise the alarm.

- - - - - - - - - -

As it played out, there were quite a few casualties. It was difficult to bring down a vampire unarmed, when your only weapon was splashing water at them. Some of the assassins were telekinetic, so underwater wasn't entirely safe, and in the confusion many drowned as they were trampled by fleeing companions. Once they organized however, the tide turned as teams of Sarafan dragged vampires underwater, taking wounds in the process but knowing that was preferable to dying. Soon only the telekinetic ones remained, and once the on duty Sarafan realized what was happening they were quickly cut down from behind.

When the officers were high ranking enough to have private baths, conditions were slightly better. Obviously, only a fraction of them were in the baths, and most of those rooms had mirrored walls, so they saw the blows coming and could dodge. Four were killed without ever knowing what had happened, and three more died struggling with the assassins. The rest were unharmed. No other pillar guardians were in a bath at the time. The assassins were killed to a (wo)man.

Although the casualties had been light, it was a severe blow to morale to see the vampires penetrating so easily. They began to see Vorador and Janos' seclusion as contempt rather than imposed fear of the Sarafan, fearing that if they so wished, they could penetrate easily. Reluctantly, the six generals recognized that they needed a boost. But would the fall of Audron outweigh the loss of their generals? He was known to terrorise Ushenstein, and was considered the most powerful of all vampires, so his death would be a massive boost. But, knowing they could die easily, the generals had ensured they were not essential to the order. And if anyone could turn a catastrophe into a triumph, it was Moebius. They were troubled.

- - - - - - - -

It became clear, later, that the vampires were resurfacing. Hunting parties launched pinprick attacks, kidnapping a handful of victims, transforming them into vampires, and sending them hunting. The Sarafan countered these as best they could, massacring most of the hunting parties, but they only consisted of perhaps five expendable fledglings, hardly worth the effort. The pinpricks went unnoticed by the masses, who were convinced that the vampires were no longer a threat, and accused the Sarafan of holding power beyond what they needed. It was still proving difficult to attack Vorador's mansion in force, and a failed attack was far worse than none at all. Audron remained as inaccessible as ever.

A number of other pockets of vampires were found and destroyed, but they were now fleeing to Termagent Forest, strengthening the numbers there. With opinions turning against them, the Sarafan for the first time in its history began experiencing desertions, nothing spectacular, but a steady bleed. It became clear that they seriously needed a victory to prevent lifetimes of work becoming undone. Mortanius, noticing their disposition, agreed to help them obtain sureties from Moebius. Confronted about the future of the Sarafan, Moebius without as much as pausing for thought spun a fantastical web of treachery involving incursions from other planes of existence and time travel that was both utterly compelling and a pack of preposterous lies. But, more importantly, it made the loss of their generals look like the biggest victory in the order's history, _without_ making them into traitors or cowards. In fact, they would be martyrs.

Picking themselves up (all of them had collapsed laughing helplessly at some point during his tale), they held him to this promise.

"I will preserve the Sarafan order until every vampire spawned by an Ancient or his brood is irreparably dead. I will find Vorador and lay his head in your tomb to show I have fulfilled this, so that your souls may know I spoke truth. I will find you and ensure you are released from your vampiric slavery if I have to claw my way back from the grave to do so. This I will do, even should the pillars crumble to dust and the land rot, if I am devoured by a wraith I will find a way to escape to fulfill this promise, no matter what it may cost me."

Mortanius stepped out of the shadows and seared that promise indelibly into his soul, so that even should he die, any new vessel his soul inhabited would be forced to fulfill the promise.

Moebius screamed and thrashed, glaring, but not resisting the sudden attack.

Dumah smiled. "You thought we'd rely on your word? Foolish, my lord. We know you."

"I would not have been deterred had you told me."

"You realize that you neglected to use the word 'if' in your promise. Rightfully, we may simply walk away and leave Janos be." Moebius blinked, admiration at being tricked overwhelming even his rage.

"But, unlike you, my lord, we keep our word. Given the chance, Audron will die, and we with him."

"Hahaha...congratulations. This has not happened to me before...ever. I must admit, I'm surprised."

"We had an _excellent_ teacher."

They left him there, laughing at himself and admiring the handiwork of his lieutenants.

Mortanius, having remained behind, flicked him one apologetic glance. "They're loyal soldiers. I could not let them die in vain." Then he, too, left.

Shortly afterwards, the Voice of God resounded across the chamber.

"So...they seek to bind you. Foolish. As my servant, you cannot be bound." Agony filled him as his soul was seared a second time by God trying to shatter his chains. When it subsided, the chains had held. Mortanius had not taken chances.

"Impossible...no mortal binding can stand up to me..."

"Well, it appears that one did. I fully intend to keep that promise, and you will not prevent me."

"We shall see." With his generals departed, nobody heard the screams.


	8. The fall of Audron

_For some reason, this chapter was very hard to write. Sorry I took so long, but this was the best I could do. I keep changing the pace of what I'm doing really suddenly, and I couldn't stop it. Next chapters better, I promise._

**The Fall of Audron**

More time passed. The Sarafan Generals began preparing for their deaths. All of them refused Moebius' offered knowledge of when they were to die, fearing it would make them feel invulnerable. Moebius told them he could give them as much time as they wished, for all he had to do was set the Chronoplast slightly later in the future, so that the demon carrying their deaths would arrive when they were ready to face him. He knew their answer, naturally, but, in his words, "You have to tell me, otherwise I can't know." So they set their affairs in order, ensured their wives, children, and close friends were stationed elsewhere, and went to him. Three days later, he came to them, not in tears but they could see that this was only through rigid self control.

"It is time."

"Very well. Janos Audron, you fall today."

"Aye."

Even now, knowing they were to die today, they worried. Audron preferred to flee rather than stand, but like any rat, he could fight back viciously when cornered. And if they were killed by him and not the demon, it could be disastrous. Preparing to depart, they were considering this when the pillar guardians reappeared, along with the entire Sarafan order who were available, to bid them farewell. Malek was to remain in the fortress, to protect the Guardians, as ever,(and Dumah had given him instructions to skewer Moebius should he have lied today), but the others had to leave. If Moebius had for some reason betrayed them, this would be an ideal opportunity for the vampires to decapitate the order. It might seem that there would be little difference between vampires and this demon, but if vampires recovered their bodies and resurrected them, not even Moebius could prevent the order from shattering.

Tearful, Moebius gave them their final blessing.

"I have never, and will never, meet your like again. Such brave, loyal soldiers...You do not know how it pains me to see you die...especially in these circumstances. May the pillars guide your steps this day. In order to aid you, I bequeath to you this." He tossed his staff. Turel was quicker than Raziel. He caught the staff, and after individual blessings from each Guardian (including Malek), they left. Mortanius teleported them to the base of Audron's Aerie, and escorted them up through it to deal with any thralls present. However, the blue demon had made it easy for them to ascend, thoughtfully slaying everything in its path and blazing through all obstacles, so he was hardly needed. Odd, that. The way Moebius had spoken, this demon was seeking aid from Audron in some form. In most circles it was considered counterproductive to slay all the servants and destroy the furnishings of any entity when you wished them to aid you.

Just below the peak, Mortanius stopped.

"I shall wait here. If Janos sees me, he will certainly flee, and we need him dead. As an Ancient, Janos will not die easily. You need to keep him subdued with the staff and remove his heart or head in order to ensure he dies. Do not linger."

And then they were alone. They saw Janos, catching a bare glimpse of the blue demon as Janos teleported him elsewhere.

Janos seemed calm and unafraid, facing them without any emotion.

"So...you seek my end? Very well...I am here. Poor creatures, you know not what you do."

"No...we do not. So there is little purpose in attempting to strike fear into our hearts. Take him."

-

"Hold him!"

"Look at his black heart, how it still beats!"

"Raziel, we must get out of here!"

"Remember the sword!"

"The fiend means to bury us alive!"

-

They discovered, as they fled, the reason why Audron had refused to shelter others of his race. The building had a fatal structural flaw-it would collapse upon the death of its owner. An ingenious way of avoiding being assassinated. Fortunately, Mortanius was waiting, and teleported them instantly away. Not back to the Sarafan stronghold, but to his own manor.

"You have the heart?" When Raziel failed to answer, Turel replied "Yes, my Lord." Raziel appeared to be in shock, unresponsive to anything said to him.

"Give it to me."

"Why, my lord?" Turel enquired suspiciously. They had not spent years of their lives leading up to this and condemned themselves to death in order to have their sacrifices rendered fruitless now.

"You would not wish Janos to regain his heart, would you?"

"Of course not, but nonetheless-"

"Then give it to me. If I wished it, I could take it, but I choose not to. _As yet! _So give me that heart!"

Turel removed it from Raziel's numb grasp and gave it to Mortanius, who examined it closely. Suddenly laughing, he tossed it up into the air, clapped his hands once, and caught it, handing Turel what looked to be _two _Hearts of Darkness, identical in every respect.

"Tell me...can you tell which is the heart that was torn from Janos?"

"I cannot."

"Neither can Vorador. These hearts are identical in every respect to the original, which is actually currently in a small private plane of existence inaccessible to anyone except myself. These hearts will be sensed by Vorador as he could sense his sire. They will even sustain a vampire should one feed on one of them. But they can not resurrect Janos. If I spend the next few days creating several hundred of these..."

Turel smiled. "He'll never find it."

"Exactly. Now, to more important matters...I believe Moebius wishes for you to die?"

"This is correct, my Lord."

"Yes...I can sense your deaths approaching." The manner in which this continued to happen to them was beginning to irritate the generals. It was one thing to know you were to die, but quite another to be reminded of this fact every few minutes.

"Do you have any messages for me to deliver to your friends and family?"

"Not yet. Do we have time to write them?"

"Yes. You are not to die for hours yet. The library is the second door on the left down the corridor. The skeletons should not attack you, but if they do, you have my leave to defend yourselves as you see fit."

"How reassuring."

Mortanius laughed. "Indeed."

They took turns writing their last farewells while the others guarded against attack-their long established method relying heavily on trust, but justifiably so. Long years of commitment to a cause left them with a deep sense of mutual trust, in certain circumstances. With their farewells sealed and signed, they bestowed them to Mortanius and he teleported again to their Sarafan stronghold. Still numb, Raziel walked like a machine. Rahab, noting this, felt compelled to comment.

"What ails you, Raziel? You seem...frozen."

"It...is me..." Raziel whispered, "I...am to slay you all...my brethren."

"You?"

"Me...I am to be reborn as the demon..."

"Congratulations are in order, it seems. You are to rid the world of the vampiric pestilence."

"Although, as you will then be a vampire, this may be considered...foolish...by your fellow vampires. It seems we are not to be very efficient vampiric lords" Dumah, noted, not without some amusement. He was hurriedly quietened by the others.

"You do not understand...As we watched the demon cross nosgoth, he struck down many Sarafan soldiers...among them my niece. I am to kill her, it seems."

"Interesting to note that you value her life so far above ours."

"We cannot escape our fate...we knew, always, that we would die in battle. She's fifteen, she should not have been in battle."

"Express your rage, then, to the demon when it comes."

"It will mean nothing to him. He is a monster."

"Perhaps we are monsters to him. Come, let us make our ends memorable to this demon when he comes for us."

"An uncomfortable thought, when that is the best you can hope for."

They shed their armour, endeavoring to enjoy their last hours of existence. This effort was futile, but preferable to simply waiting for their end.


	9. Before the Fall

_After__ this, there's going to be six short chapters that might be posted together and might not, and then a chapter documenting each generals fall. I was going to put them all in the same chapter, but that didn't seem right. I haven't played BO1 so I can't do the Fall of Malek, although I really want to._

**Before the Fall**

It felt odd, walking willingly to your deaths. I mean, what did you do for the last few hours while your blue assassin wandered across Nosgoth with not a care in the world except swift, brutal revenge and perhaps the occasional sightseeing detour? They shed their armour and played one last ceremonial game of cards, without their hearts in it, running over past memories, some amusing, some horrific, some glorious. They had nothing to do except wait-their affairs were settled long since, and all they had to do was await their end, and reminisce until Moebius came for them.

"There is another option, my lords. You could flee, and not one of us would raise a hand to hunt you, if Moebius burnt us at the stake." This from the Knight pouring the drinks.

"Flee? To where? The demon would find us, or seek out Mortanius and take the Heart. And if the demon did not, Moebius would. No, we are tied to the stake, we must fight the course, wherever it leads." Raziel had frozen upon seeing his future self, and then had unfrozen into a different man, despondent but imbued with iron resolve.

"Well, if I cannot bid you to alter your opinion, I wish thee well, my lords."

A messenger trotted into the room-he'd been stationed to tell them when Moebius was coming, though if caught that was his death. Men made sacrifices for their lords daily-the time had come for their lords to make the sacrifice, and none would fault them.

"Moebius comes."

Dumah rose, raising his glass. "Brethren, I could not have asked for worthier fellows. To a quick end." He did not say 'A glorious end.' They had spent too long in battle to speak of glory without visions of intestines.

Moebius came silently taking them to his time streaming chamber for some final words.

"My lords, forgive me for doing this to you."

"Forgiveness? Moebius, your deeds are beyond forgiveness, and have been long since. We tire of manipulations." They had no other alternative, and he had long spent time manipulating them so this was so, and they all knew it. But Dumah dared give it voice. He'd also called Moebius by name.

Moebius was stunned.

"Be silent! Or-"

"What? Slay us? Try, my lord, try. We are no vampires, and you can do nothing more to us."

"Malek!"

Malek appeared, heavy hearted as they were.

"Farewell, friends. May you find your rest, though it be after you rise as vampires."

"And you also" the other Generals intoned, with the respect they never had for Moebius.

"I have the misfortune to know my fate, and it seems unlikely I shall. Armour does not rest. It merely exists."

Dumah, knowing this knowledge was from Moebius when discovering the fate of the Sarafan and not merely sympathy, was about to query this when another messenger arrived.

"The demon draws close."

"Very well, rest assured, I make no speech to you this day. But know this-Whatever your fate, once you are free of your corpses, I wish you well. As this is your last day, I have brought your closest kin here to fare thee well. Though you ensured they were gone this day, I believed you would nonetheless regret this when the demon drew close, and brought them here." He vanished, along with Malek.

"Well

And, as always, his surmise was correct, and as the wives and sometimes children of the generals entered the room, they were gladdened, despite the pain they knew the parting would bring. They spread out into their assigned positions, as time was short, and made their final farewells in the same rooms they would die in.


	10. Melchiah

_I'm not good at emotions._

**Melchiah**

When he faced his wife and five year old son, Melchiah was cursing Moebius' thoughtful gesture. It'd only bring them all pain. It didn't help that Zephon stood in the same room alone, but he quashed that thought as soon as it rose. There were people who would wear a local soccer jersey in Glasgow. There were people who would wear a KKK mask to a Martin Luther King Memorial. There were people who would walk into the sanctuary of the clans wearing an 'I love Moebius' T-Shirt. But even they would think it inappropriate to mention Zephon's family when he was in earshot.

Focusing on his wife, he tried to think of something to say. He could see her confusion, but she knew him well enough to have an idea of what was coming.

"Did Moebius tell you why he brought you here?"

"No...all he said was 'Come with me' I hardly had time to dress."

"Dress?" Melchiah narrowed his eyes at her in mock suspicion. She smiled.

"Guard duty last night. I thought about visiting my secret vampiric lover, but he was occupied. So why was I brought here?"

Instead of answering, he bent down to his son.

"Did you miss me?"

"No!" his son responded imperiously, promptly contradicting himself with "Are we staying here now?"

"No. You aren't here long."

"That's not fair!"

"Perhaps not, but it's true."

"Should I keep him amused for you?" Zephon called from across the room, a touch sadly, in an obscure tribal language to keep Melchiah's family from understanding.

"I think not. I don't want to rob you of this time."

"I have nothing worthy to do with this time. But you need a final farewell for your wife, and such a moment should be private."

"You need not look after him. We will not have long to spend."

A scream echoed through the fortress, evidence of the demon's presence. Subtlety was not something he knew, it seemed. Melchiah's wife leaned close, whispering.

"The way you didn't answer me means tragedy approaches." She glanced towards where the scream had come from. "And the means becomes clear."

He couldn't meet her eyes.

"Look after him."

She wrapped arms around his neck and kissed him, her armour inhibiting the movement slightly, but the love was there.

"Shall I stab Moebius for you?" In spite of his situation, Melchiah laughed. Quite the vicious creature, was she not?

"I think not. He doesn't die easily."

Another scream. Closer.

When Moebius had summoned them, Melchiah had brought his armour by hand, but not donned it. Now his wife began strapping it to his body, quickly and efficiently. She'd squired him before. Once finished, she did the same for Zephon, and picked up their son. Now in tears, she got one final kiss from him, said her farewells, and left. Saddened, Melchiah turned towards the door the demon would emerge from, to face whatever was to come.


	11. Zephon

_Wow...this is depressing._

**Zephon**

Watching Melchiah greet his family was painful, as it served to remind Zephon of what he had lost. Still, at least he was spared a sorrowful parting. His last parting with his living family, two years gone now, had been one of joy, not knowing what lay ahead of his doomed family.

Across the room, Melchiah crouched down to his son, clearly unwilling to say his farewells to his wife in front of him.

"Should I keep him amused for you?" Zephon called across, in a language he knew only Melchiah would understand.

"I think not. I don't want to rob you of this time."

"I have nothing worthy to do with this time." _Save dwell on my failures. _"But you need a final farewell for your wife, and such a moment should be private."

"You need not look after him. We will not have long to spend."

As if to punctuate this, a scream echoed through the room. The demon was drawing closer. Melchiah's wife's eyes suddenly filled with understanding on why she'd been summoned from across Nosgoth, and she leaned close to her husband for some final words. He laughed suddenly, a hollow sound. Zephon looked away.

Another scream permeated the room. This one was closer and higher pitched. Recognising time was short, Melchiah began donning his armour, with his wife squiring him. She then came across to offer the same service to Zephon, who accepted after a glance at Melchiah to seek his permission. This granted, he closed his eyes, the closeness of the woman again evoking painful memories.

Two years gone, after an attempted assassination, Zephon had realised that his family were under threat if they were close to him and had sent them away to another garrison of the Sarafan. Said garrison had later been overrun by a vampiric offensive. His wife had been recognised, and though it cost the lives of five prominent adult vampires, she had been captured alive and turned. His son had not been turned, and the vampires of the clan that had overrun the fortress had used him as a hostage to begin negotiations-or so Zephon believed at the time. The hostage negotiation had involved twelve senior vampires waiting for him to arrive and then teleporting away, laughing at his folly, leaving behind his now fledgling vampire wife holding his still living son in her arms, telling him that she would skin their son alive while he watched. She managed to tear his head from his shoulders just before Zephon's blade nailed her to a tree.

The twelve senior clan members had then reappeared with the bulk of their clan , attempting to attack Zephon while he was least capable of thought and escorted only by an honour guard. At which point the rest of Zephon's legion had sprung out from hiding and fell on them as they closed. Great minds thought alike. Zephon had committed to memory the faces of the twelve orchestrators and recently on the battlefield had felled the last. But the memory of the last despairing scream stayed with him, as had his wife's scream as he impaled her.

Rising from her work, Melchiah's wife returned to him for some final words, leaving Zephon to close his eyes against the tears that threatened to emerge. Strengthening his resolve, he faced the door his murderer would emerge from.

_Come, demon. I have no loose ends to tie. _


	12. Rahab

**Rahab**

Faced with his wife and twin daughters, Rahab took a moment to think about what he was going to say, then gave up, picking up both daughters in either arm, after making sure their daggers were out of reach (they'd already begun combat training at five, for fear of what had happened to Zephon's family). The girls smiled and raised empty hands theatrically.

"Hello."

"Are we coming home now?" Alaria, dangling from his left arm, was the first to speak.

Rahab paused. "Not yet. I'm...leaving for a long time, and I wanted to see you before I left."

"Are you coming back?" He blinked. People always assumed young children to be idiots. His own had proven to them time and again that this wasn't true. They could not have failed to pick up the funereal mood in the stronghold.

A scream echoed through the stronghold. He had little time.

"I will be back before you can say..." -he cast his mind around- "Anti- disestablishmentarianism."

Both girls blinked, not least because their mother had suddenly and inexplicably collapsed laughing helplessly, and missed most of the word. Rahab himself started laughing at their expressions, in spite of himself.

"What?"

"What?"

"I can't say it again. That would be cheating. Now, go practice, good girls."

They left-thankfully, not in the direction the scream had come from. His wife recovered herself and smiled across at him. She was fully armoured, apparently called here in the middle of duty.

"That will keep them going for months...long journey?"

"The longest" he replied, glancing down. She understood instantly, drawing close and glancing towards where the scream had come from.

"When?"

His glance towards the doors was her answer. As though to punctuate the point, there was a closer, louder scream. She kissed him. Glancing at Dumah, Rahab found him staring fixedly at a particular block on the wall, apparently fascinated by it. He wondered briefly how quickly the demon could travel, then reluctantly released his wife and allowed her to squire him, before offering the same service to Dumah and finally departing.

Alone, now, he picked up his weapons and waited for the demon bearing his death.


	13. Dumah

**Dumah**

Beyond the initial glance he habitually gave to any new arrival he met to ensure they were not a threat, Dumah paid little attention to Rahab's family. He himself had no farewells to make- knowing this day lay in his future, he'd never married, although he'd been tempted more than once. Seeing the mingled happiness and dread with which his fellow generals were greeting their families, he didn't regret his decision. Like all the Sarafan Generals, the few blood relatives he hadn't lost to the vampires cared little for him-they'd never forgiven him for being exiled, so he stood alone.

It's often said that when one is near death, one's life flashes before one's eyes. Speaking as a person who had been close to death many times, Dumah could attest to that being false. But when given a chance, reflections did tend to arise. Looking down at his armour, and around at the huge fortress that was their home, he was once again cast back to their humble beginnings. He heard the screams that had caused the others such distress, but his dreamlike state barely registered them, lost in memories.

_The 'old fool' they'd taken captive seemed remarkably calm at his impending demise, something which clearly enraged Turo. The vampire, it must be said, was not terribly intelligent –his leadership of his clan was based on age, power, and his absolute control of his fledglings. It was too absolute for adaptability-his fledglings could barely think without his direct order. That was obviously something that Moebius was able to exploit._

_Turo held any public executions on a crag above a lake, to demonstrate that he did not need to fear water or something similar. He set his throne on the edge of a lake as Raziel, Turel, Dumah, Rahab, Zephon and Melchiah escorted their prisoner out, blades at his throat. Turo was taking no chances after the captive's earlier display. Unfortunately for him, that meant that Moebius had had ample opportunity to talk to his captors-and he was leaning on that curiously ornate staff._

_From his place, Turo called for Dumah to chain Moebius to a large rock before pushing both into the lake-he was awake that humans could swim. Moebius placidly presented his leg. Dumah exchanged glances with the other guards. Something felt wrong here. Then a vampire fledgling came hurtling into view and screamed "We're being attacked!" Almost relieved, Dumah sprang up and drew weapons, distantly hearing Moebius mutter "Finally!" The orb on the staff suddenly flared bright, and all around him vampires suddenly began toppling forwards into the water. With a remarkable grasp of what was going on human exiles suddenly rose up and started killing every vampire around them._

_Turo had flown up from his throne in shock at the fledgling's announcement, just clearing the staff's area of incapacitation in the movement. Glancing around wildly, he identified the glowing orb as the source of the chaos and his telekinetic bolt knocked it from Moebius' hand and into the water. The glow flickered and died, and vampires began fighting back. Turo flew like an arrow towards the execution crag and grabbed Moebius, claws at his throat. He got as far as "Stop or he-" before falling with six blades buried in his back and tumbling into the lake._

"_Thank you" Moebius said, grinning and brushing down his robe before telekinetically summoning his staff to him. By this time, he had more blades at his throat._

"_Who are you?" Raziel demanded._

"_I am the head of a humble crusade called the Sarafan, dedicated to ridding the land of the vampiric pestilence. See for yourself."_

_By this stage Moebius' forces were entering sight. They were well armoured and equipped, but Dumah could see a young fledgling fighting three of Moebius' soldiers at once and matching them strike for strike. They were a mob, zealous, but in conflict, destined for slaughter, even with the miraculous staff. The Exiles, mostly fighting bare handed or with rocks or chains, were more successful._

"_Your crusade leaves much to be desired."_

"_So it appears. Would you be willing to help me remedy that?"_

_Dumah looked around. They had suffered much at the hands of the vampires..._

And so a fairly large band of bandits struggling to find enough to eat every day became one of the most powerful military orders in existence. And the rest was history.

And, soon, so would he.

By this time Rahab's wife had drawn away from him and had crossed to offer to squire Dumah. He accepted graciously, thanked her, and watched her leave, before turning, like Rahab, to the place where his death was to emerge. He had few regrets. Their band of ragged bandits was resilient, and even should the Sarafan be shattered by this catastrophe, its members would easily be able to enlist in any of the individual kingdom's armies.

_I've achieved everything I needed to, demon. Come._


	14. Turel

Sorry this took so long

_Sorry this took so long._

** Turel**

Turning away from the bars, Turel regarded his wife. Unlike the other generals, she was no Sarafan. The others had met their wives in the line of duty (except for Rahab, who'd met his current wife after diving into a river to escape a baying mob of fledglings and washing up on a shore several miles downstream). So had he, but in a different sense. He'd met her relatively recently-she'd tried to assassinate him in an inn in Ziegsturl. He'd broken her leg in five places, and while they were waiting for the rest of his squad to arrive-he wasn't allowed to execute humans without a full trial, as the Sarafan had to be seen to be benevolent to the people- the vampire who had organised her attack learned that it had failed and sent two dozen fledglings to raze the building to the ground. They penetrated to the upper floor, and she saved his life with a thirty yard dagger throw, slashing a vampire's throat, which delayed it long enough for Turel to dispatch the three others he'd been fighting at the time and finish it off.

It was good practise to spare those who saved your life (it encouraged others to do so in the future). So she'd gone free. Eventually, they'd met again, and she'd professed undying love. Naturally, Turel had been a touch sceptical, but after Arrel, the Mind Guardian, had verified that she was telling the truth, he allowed her entrance to the fortress, although it took a long time before he trusted her. A plague of women had subsequently stormed the fortress gates, usually carrying children, and had only been quelled when Moebius was forced to make an exception and order that any suspicious unknown women approaching the fortress be summarily cut down.

Once he began to trust her, she'd proven good company, and while he was never entirely sure what prompted that change of heart, she was currently heavily swelled with what he hoped was a daughter (a son would probably be expected to join the Sarafan, and would be a constant target.)

They regarded each other.

"Why this sudden reunion?"

"I'm about to die." Honesty was probably best at this stage. He was lucky. She believed him. Distantly, a scream was heard. Both ignored it. If he had any lingering doubts about her loyalty, they were assuaged now.

"Who?"

"We are not certain." She might misunderstand, and try to assassinate the other generals before the vengeful demon got here. That would be unfortunate. For all concerned. Raziel, who was bidding farewell to his own wife in the same room, soon to leave, took a dim view of attempted assassinations.

A second scream sounded, closer. His wife might not be a Sarafan, but she had learned how to squire from the others at some point, and strapped him into his armour with practised ease. Bidding him farewell as Raziel's wife turned away also, they left together, leaving Raziel and Turel to await their end.


	15. Raziel

_I'm sick of these farewells chapters now, but I have to do one each. You may have noticed they're all the same, but bear with me. This is way too short._

**Raziel**

Raziel would have preferred to have this moment privately, but he had things to say to Turel, and they had little time. Turel was wrapped up in his wife's stare (and given her history, probably watching her hands) at the moment, not paying much attention to anything around him. How he'd ever managed to get her with child he'd never understood (and now certainly never would.)

His wife stood in front of him, patiently waiting for him to realize she was there. She herself was just starting to swell, but he'd never see the result now. Given the impracticality of fitting maternity breastplates, she had eschewed armour for the moment. He took a moment to set the image in his mind, although to what point he was unsure, given how little time he'd have to enjoy it.

A scream sounded, distant yet, but too close for comfort. His wife glanced at the distress on Turel's wife's face, then looked up at him. She was experienced enough to know a death cry when she heard it, and coupled with this sudden reunion and the atmosphere in the stronghold, it would have been surprising had she not drawn her own conclusions. Losing patience, she spoke first.

"The last time I saw you like this, we were in that cave, with two hundred fledglings combing the mountains. What has happened this time?"

"I'm about to be murdered."

"By who?"

"It's...complicated."

She sighed. "Time Streaming. Such a curse."

He had to agree. "Moebius spoke to you?"

"Not in so many words. But he would not have brought us unless he felt responsible"

"Don't hold him at fault. I would not wish you executed at the moment" He slipped a hand discreetly inside the dress. She glanced down, amused.

"At the moment? I see. If _I_ am executed, it means little, but if I was executed now, you would lose your bloodline."

There was another scream, this one close enough to be worrying.

"No! Now leave, quickly. I will not be pleased should you be killed today."

"Oh? Not quite as much as me, I believe." She kissed him "I would say farewell, but there seems little point." She helped him into his armour, then left with Turel's wife. Melchiah and Rahab's wives had already left. And, farewells done, there was nothing else to do but await their end.


	16. The Fall of Melchiah

**The Fall of Melchiah**

And then they were alone. Melchiah and Zephon, armoured now except for their helms, waited.

"It's been an honour." Melchiah said suddenly.

Zephon laughed. "I doubt that."

"Very well," Melchiah replied, smiling, "I abhor you, every moment I have had to tolerate you over these years has been excruciating."

"What's this? A seduction?"

"My wife has just left the room!"

Conversation trailed off. They knew what they were doing. Distracting themselves from their approaching doom. Who was taking his time.

"Where the hell is he!?"

"Patience...he will not forget us."

A gate was heard, slamming closed. Then screams, pillar guardians crying for aid.

"Should we?"

"...No. That's Malek's concern...Now."

Footsteps approaching. The click of bone on stone, not metal or flesh. They readied themselves.

"Regrets?" Zephon asked, donning his helm.

"Many. But I need not live with them long." Melchiah stepped away, spear raised. The footsteps drew closer, and then they beheld their murderer in the flesh for the first, and final, time.

Their attacker was a haggard thing, with the appearance of a semi decayed corpse. A broad spine was exposed to the eye, and it was a creature of bone and muscle in its entirety. Two tattered remnants of wings extended from its back, and there was a faded banner wrapped around its face and shoulders like a shawl...or a shroud.

It was like no creature they'd ever seen. There were traces of vampirism in its appearance, but only in the way there were traces of humanity in vampiric appearance-hints of lost nobility. The cloven feet and claws were that of an adult vampire, but not even a vampire could sustain a body so destroyed, and they knew every surviving adult of note in Nosgoth by sight, if not name. The closest comparison they could make was to one of Mortanius' wraiths, but it was too real, too solid, to be a wraith. And it bore the reaver, lately obtained at great effort in Janos' lair. Some other machination of Moebius? Merely bad luck that he had stumbled across it? More likely the former, but they were destined never to find out.

Their assassin paused briefly, as though recalling past encounters or tales it knew of them, before launching itself into the attack. The Generals each challenged it, saying something, threat, bravado, promise, entreaty, it didn't matter. They accepted their fate, but that didn't mean they had to go dumb or singing to the slaughter. The demon didn't reply.

"Back to hell with you!"

Their assassin bore the Reaver, an impeccably forged weapon, if a bit too showy for many tastes. Unlike many vampires, the demon had some familiarity with the weapon, and in fact not inconsiderable skill, but the memory of Janos Audron's mutilated corpse was fresh in his mind, and it was never advisable to fight in hot blood. He attacked with fury, but neglected to defend himself. Melchiah forgot to put up a token resistance and attacked, driving the demon back into a pillar at the edge of the courtyard. With Zephon protecting him between strokes, Melchiah used the long reach and agility of his spear to good effect, repeatedly jabbing at what appeared a vulnerable spot-the creature's exposed spine. The assassin hardly had time to react, and each strike struck with stunning force. Cracks visibly appeared in the spine, but each time Melchiah drew back, they disappeared before his next blow fell. The demon writhed desperately, blocking, ducking, sidestepping, counterattacking, but he couldn't escape the strikes, and Melchiah continued nailing him to the pillar. But no matter how hard he struck, he couldn't create a lasting wound.

Finally, the demon realised it couldn't defend itself and merely leapt clear of the conflict, fleeing to the centre of the courtyard before turning to wait for them. Slowly, Melchiah and Zephon stepped to meet it, keeping together. Many would have run, but that was merely a waste of energy. The demon readied itself. Having realised that blind rage would not serve it, it began accessing its skill, working art into the display. Having now recovered his wits, Melchiah stopped bothering to concentrate, having rather lost heart. Even a Sarafan General's reflex defense was considerable, however, and it was several minutes before he felt the steel bite.


	17. The Fall of Zephon

**The Fall of Zephon**

And then they were alone. But Zephon had been alone for a very long time, so it made little difference. They waited.

"It's been an honour" Melchiah said suddenly.

Zephon laughed, recalling a few choice moments. "I doubt that."

Melchiah agreed, and some pointless banter followed. It trailed off, but their assassin was being painfully slow. After several minutes in which there was a decided lack of murderous demons, they began to get a bit impatient

"Where the hell is he?" Melchiah was regretting sending his family away so soon, clearly.

"Patience. He will not forget us." _Although it would be nice if he did._

More waiting. Then a gate slammed shut, painfully close. Screams followed, pillar guardians crying for aid. Again, Melchiah stirred.

"Should we?"

"...No. That's Malek's concern. Do you think we could impede Vorador himself?"

Melchiah was restless, but that was understandable. It was difficult, waiting for your end. Zephon desired to say more, but suddenly there were footsteps approaching. Too much time, and not enough. But he'd made peace with his fate, ever since he'd felled the final vampire on the battlefield. They spread out, readying their weapons.

"Regrets?" Zephon asked, as the footsteps drew near, donning his helm. His regrets were well known, but he was curious as to Melchiahs. A long military career always spawned regrets.

"Many. But I need not live with them long." There was no time for more. Their slayer was among them. The gate slammed shut behind it, with the clang of finality that only came with the jaws of a trap snapping shut. A sarafan on an upper level would be working the winch. Zephon had often wondered if the doormen ever thought about the people they sealed in to die. Probably not, he decided.

There was a short pause as their assassin regarded them. Zephon felt he had to challenge him.

"Come to take your revenge, demon?"

_Actually, no, I've come to deliver some flowers and a __small complimentary basket of fruit. Would you gentlemen perhaps know the identity of the owner of this sword I found?_

The sarcastic thought was so strong that Zephon actually heard it said. But of course that was absurd. The assassin charged suddenly.

Melchiah met him stroke for stroke, driving him back and hammering him into a pillar. Even a vampire couldn't match a General, certainly not in hot blood. Writhe as he might, the assassin had no response, and his rare counterattacks were blocked by Zephon. He had no objection to letting himself be killed, but he would not allow a comrade to die by his fault. Hammer as he might, however, Melchiah could not make any lasting damage. Wounds closed instantly, untraceably, faster than the standard vampiric healing process. Even an Elder vampire, millennia old, could not heal shattered bone within moments.

Eventually, the demon managed to leap free and fled them, before turning at the centre of the courtyard to face them again. This time, it began using skill beyond its speed and agility, actual art, as human fencers had to and vampires usually didn't. Nonetheless, the movements were only slightly more dangerous as the demon moved as one accessing long forgotten, unused skill. Melchiah was no longer bothering to defend himself beyond a token amount, but a fraction of his talent proved adequate enough to repel the assassin for a long period, Zephon striking out every now and again out of habit.

Finally, the assassin got in a strike that did more than glance off armour, and Melchiah fell, dropping his guard and letting himself be impaled. Zephon struck out once with his full force, in honour of his fallen friend, knocking the assassin to his knees for the first time. The strike, to the demons exposed throat, almost snapped his neck. Shocked, the monster retreated again. Zephon strolled to meet him, unconcerned. He had made his peace with his fate.

They sparred for another four minutes before Zephon tired of the charade and allowed himself to fall. The last thing he heard was the gate creaking open, beckoning the demon onwards to the other brethren and his own impending fate.


	18. The Fall of Rahab

**The Fall of Rahab**

And then they were alone. In the main hall of the sanctuary, Rahab and Dumah awaited their assassin. They didn't speak until they heard a gate slam shut somewhere in the stronghold. Then, suddenly, screams...pillar guardians, crying for Malek. Dumah came to his feet quickly.

"This has the appearance of a betrayal! He choreographed things so we would await our assassin to rob the Guardians of any protection, to purge the circle of rivals!"

"No...Malek is with him. He would not allow such."

"Malek may be bound to his word!"

"What could he gain by it?"

"...Little. A weakened circle would give the vampires the ideal opportunity to revive, but...have you ever known Moebius to order something when he didn't know the consequences? He may have other motives."

"Well, one was hardly to rob the circle of our protection. That was Vorador's voice. Only Malek could stand against him."

"And where is Malek? With Moebius. That is hardly happenstance."

More gates crashed down, and voices, raised in challenge, could be heard distantly.

"Come to take your revenge, demon?"

"Back to hell with you!"

Clashing steel followed, but there was no reply.

"Vorador?" Rahab was beginning to have doubts himself.

"No...he could not bear to fight in silence. This is another."

"So Moebius spoke some truth."

"Some, yes. So...Vorador strikes at the circle, while another, lesser power strikes at us in a concerted attack designed to cripple the circle and the Sarafan, hopefully demolishing us."

"And will it?"

"Truthfully? I know not. But we will not fall lightly!"

Time passed. Distantly, there was a slightly different sound, a heavy clang, to the connoisseur familiar as armour hitting the ground.

"They held him well," Rahab noted, just before the clashing resumed. "They still hold!"

"But not for long."

The noise continued for a time, and then there was a second sound of metal on stone. And the creak of a rising gate.

"He comes," Dumah noted, and stood up, donning his helm.

"Regrets?" Rahab asked, donning his own and facing the doors the assailant would arrive from.

"No...we built an order that brought our former rulers to their knees from a ragged band of bandits, and I saw the father of all vampires gutted like the worm he is. What of you?"

"Well, Rahab is a woman's name...but none of you noticed, so it mattered little." He'd originally been exiled after reacting badly to an insult on that theme. Dumah just had time to laugh, before the demon arrived.

The demon, paused for an instant, just before its attack, and each general threw out a challenge.

"You'll have to get through _us, _first." Hardly choice dialogue, but then, who would hear it? The demon nodded slightly, as though agreeing _–Yes, I thought that was implied- _then charged into the attack. Melchiah and Zephon had blunted his blind rage, and now he employed craft in his offences, but his defence was lacking, for the simple reason that he knew they couldn't give him a lasting wound. Rahab and Dumah, fighting with instinct alone, landed innumerable strikes between blade and spear, but no wound was more than fleeting. The demon, it was clear, _could_ defend himself if he so wished, but didn't deign to bother, and any normal creature would have been torn to shreds by the time he leapt free of the conflict, and fled towards the gates to Turel-safely sealed.

Turning, the demon appeared to attempt to put down the blade he carried –probably to use some form of telekinesis or projectile-such things usually required the use of one or both hands to summon- but his efforts failed, and he charged again. Rahab and Dumah, slowly closing the distance, had now realised the futility of struggle, and only bothered to block every third stroke. Dumah bore a spear, and as such, was attacking from greater distance, so it was Rahab who was the first to fall.


	19. The Fall of Dumah

_I realise this is repetitive, but I have to run through the six Falls._

**The Fall of Dumah**

And then they were alone. What needed to be said, had been said, so they were silent, each contemplating their fate. Then, the screams of pillar guardians brought them out of their thoughts. Dumah, unconsciously expecting something like this, sprang to his feet.

"This has the appearance of a betrayal! He choreographed thing so that we would await our assassins to rob the guardians of any protection, to purge the circle of rivals!"

Rahab shook his head. "No...Malek is with him. He would not alow such."

"Malek may be bound to his word." Rahab eyed him strangely at that. As ward of the circle, Malek's duty was to protect the circle, not to obey them. Rahab hadn't been present in Moebius chamber that day, so Dumah's statement appeared odd.

"What could he gain by it?"

Little," Dumah conceded, "A weakened circle would give the vampires the ideal opportunity to revive, but... have you ever known Moebius to order something when he didn't know the consequences? He may have other motives."

"Well, one was hardly to rob the circle of our protection. That was Vorador's voice. Only Malek could stand against him."

"And where is Malek? With Moebius. That is hardly happenstance."

They were interrupted by the sounds of a heavy gate crashing down, and voices raised in challenge.

"Come to take your revenge, demon?"

"Back to hell with you!"

Steel clashed.

"Vorador?" Rahab asked, uncertain.

"No...he could not bear to fight in silence. This is another."

"So Moebius spoke some truth."

"Some, yes. So...Vorador strikes at the circle, while another, lesser power, strikes at us in a concerted attack designed to cripple the circle and the Sarafan, hopefully demolishing us."

"And will it?" Rahab asked, hope in his eyes.

For an instant, Dumah was tempted to tell of what had happened with Moebius and his God. But he decided against it. He'd learned long ago that if Moebius knitted a snare for you, you never saw it until it closed. The only way to escape was if another took pity on you and intervened. There was no need to discomfit Rahab in his final hour.

"Truthfully?" Dumah lied, "I know not. But we will not fall lightly!"

After a time, they heard one of their brethren fall. He'd held his assassin ridiculously long for one who was only defending himself to put up a show.

"They held him well," Rahab noted, an instant before the other brother resumed the attack, and the sound of battle resumed.

Eventually, the second Sarafan general fell, accompanied by the creak of a rising gate. Dumah stood up, donning his helm.

"He comes."

"Regrets?"

"No...we built an order that brought our former rulers to their knees from a ragged band of bandits, and I saw the father of all vampires gutted like the worm he is. What of you?

"Well, Rahab is a woman's name, but none of you noticed, so it mattered little."

Dumah couldn't help but laugh at the thought, even as he heard their slayer approaching. Then he was among them.

As soon as Dumah saw the Reaver, so recently gained from Audron's accursed Aerie, he knew Moebius had betrayed them, and this was all a game of his. The betrayal stung, and stung hard. Deceitful creature though he was, Moebius had always held the best interests of the order in mind, up to this day. Which made his final betrayal all the more disgusting.

He had intended to question his assassin to understand his purpose before he died, but the shock of seeing the weapon numbed his mind, and all that emerged in his challenge was a weak challenge not dissimilar to Zephon's.

"Have you come to reclaim the monster's black heart?"

This sounded ridiculous, but Rahab leapt in to save him with "You'll have to get through _us_, first." Said as though they truly intended to be obstacles.

The monster paused briefly, looking at them almost in recognition, then lunged into the attack. There was skill there, but it was as though it was long dormant, only now rising to the surface after centuries of neglect. An attitude found in vampires often, as they relied on speed and strength over skill. Had he been a normal opponent, Dumah and Rahab would have cut him to pieces, but they couldn't create a lasting wound, his regenerative abilities beyond even that of the vampires the Generals had made a career of destroying. Nonetheless, the attacks that struck their assassin apparently caused pain, as he eventually fled their blades, as though attempting to escape towards Turel, but the gate was securely sealed, and he was forced to turn back to face them. Apparently, he then attempted to discard the blade in order to use a projectile, but the blade was somehow fused to his arm, as repeated attempts to drop the blade failed. With no option left to him, their assassin charged again to meet the slowly advancing generals.

They met him with blades, and by now Rahab had clearly tired of the charade, his movements lazy, resigned. Dumah affected similar disillusionment, masking growing rage at what had been done to them. He didn't wish his brother to know that something was wrong, not in his final moments. Each strike that drew blood from Rahab caused Dumah akin to pain himself, as he was forced to watch his brother die. Indeed, he let strokes through that he could have blocked, contributing to his comrade's fall, which made his torment all the more painful.

Then Rahab fell, his final painful cry as the Reaver punched through his armour a lamentable sound. Dumah, freed of the need to stage a mummery for his brother, struck out with his full strength, driving the monster back with his ferocity. Apparently shamed by being outmatched by a mere human, the monster launched a ferocious attack of his own, forcing Dumah to defend himself. An attempted overhand slash by the monster was easily dodged, and his counter of three heavy strikes across the jaw all struck home, capable of splitting the skull even of a vampire. The monster, clearly no vampire, fled again, towards the main entrance to the hall, which was also sealed. Then he turned, advancing on Dumah with caution in his stride. Now, he used craft in his defence as well as attack, ducking and dodging. The skill level in the duel rose sharply, but Dumah took great pleasure in breaking the monster's defence now and then anyway.

_I've taught you respect, demon. I leave it to Turel to teach you manners._

He played with the creature for another few minutes, before letting himself be impaled.


	20. The Fall of Turel

**The Fall of Turel**

And then they were alone. Raziel and Turel, destined to be the last survivors of the Sarafan Generals, discounting Malek. Senses tuned towards the approaching doom, they didn't speak until the screams of pillar guardians reached their ears.

"Vorador. I had never believed he would have the courage." Vorador was unusually pragmatic for a vampire, and tended to avoid conflict beyond his hunts or the command of his sire.

"Hot blood breeds incaution. We slew his sire." Raziel sighed "Death brings rage...or despair." H e leaned on his sword. "Do you think he'll escape the stronghold?"

"If he does, he will bleed for it. Malek or Moebius will not be hospitable."

"Do you think so? Moebius ever has his own agenda. We're caught in one of his machinations."

"Whether he does or not, there's little to be done now. We must accept our fate." Turel would always fulfil his duty. If that involved martyrdom, so be it.

A gate crashed down, and they heard their brethren raise voices in challenge.

"Come to take your revenge, demon?"

"Back to hell with you!"

Turel stood up. "Our time wanes. Good luck." He made to embrace Raziel, who saw the dagger palmed behind his wrist just in time to stop it cutting his throat. A brief struggle ensued, resulting in each of them getting a blade to each other's throat.

"I should have you strung from the fortress walls!" Raziel hissed.

Turel laughed. "How unbearable. I should be executed by Sarafan council tomorrow instead of murdered by our blue demon today. What a fate! I should become bored!" A pause. "Come, what would I gain from killing you now? If I thought that would connect, I wouldn't have attempted anything. An assassination attempt always lifts you from despair, have you not noticed?"

In spite of himself, Raziel smiled. Turel lowered his weapons and turned, looking through the bars at Rahab and Dumah. Dimly, they heard the first suit of armour hit the ground.

"Thank you, Turel...for trying to kill me." He paused. "I wonder...has that ever been said before by any assassination victim in history?"

After a time, the second suit of armour hit the ground, and they heard a rising gate. Brethren had fallen. More still soon would. They waited.

"...We will not fall lightly!" Dumah said, in the room ahead.

_I envy your conviction..._

The gate rose.

"Have you come reclaim the monster's black heart?"

"You'll have to get through us, _first_."

As blades clashed within, Turel, looked to his brother. "Time is short. Go."

Raziel fled. Turel donned his helm and waited. Rahab and Dumah forced the creature to flee them briefly, but it could not break the locks, and turned back. Having sparred with the two Generals, Turel knew they weren't displaying fractions of their talent. Rahab fell, his indifference notable. Dumah then stepped up his game, but only enough to teach the creature to respect him. Like all creatures of vampiric origin, it was lazy, relying on strength to save it from threats, completely disdaining any opposition. Once his point was made, Dumah, too, let himself fall.

The locks clicked open, and only plate steel and his own skill separated Turel of the Sarafan from his death.

Always, in life, he'd striven to do his duty. Whether that meant subduing Audron as Raziel ripped his black heart from his chest, or waiting for a vengeful demon to run him through, he would, and had, followed orders to his death. If this was one of Moebius' games, then...so be it. He would abide by his duty.

Having been concentrating on Rahab and Dumah, Turel was shocked as his death came through the gates. It was Raziel. A distorted, destroyed spectre, true, but still recognisable as the Sarafan who had just left. Even his stride was visible, adapted for a thing with claws and fangs, but still recognisable that as his younger reflection. Faced with such a creature, what he had planned to say left him, and he came out with the weak "Get back to the pit you crawled from, demon!" He'd seen demons before, and this creature was certainly not akin to them, but nor was it a vampire, and he had no other name. Wraith, perhaps.

The wraith-demon paused, a shard of a second's respite, as though acknowledging the denial. The glowing eyes flickered a moment, and Turel was sure they briefly blazed with hate for some past/future wrong. But philosophical thoughts had no place in duelling, and abruptly the wraith-demon was on him.

Any doubts that it was a revived Raziel fell instantly when they clashed. The style of battle was similar to that of the Sarafan General he'd spent years sparring with. Adapted, yes, with the occasional display of something new, but Turel was used to facing vampirically revived former comrades, and it took him little time to gain the measure of his opponent. The wraith-demon appeared to have long buried memories of Turel's particular duelling style, here and there pre-empting a particular attack or block, but Turel had fresh memories, and he used them well, stepping in and outside the creature's range as though this was a prearranged battle, using the extra length his spear gave him to good effect.

Unlike the others, Turel's goal was not simply to provide a token resistance and die. Raziel was still in flight, and he needed time to reach his prescribed place of execution, as well as set a few things in place. Also, he wanted to give him an opportunity to reflect. So he fought down the future wraith creature to the best of his abilty for several minutes. The preceding brethren had taught the creature to be respectful of his adversaries, and not to dismiss them merely because of his immortality. Thus, the creature fought with all his considerable speed, strength, and agility, but new and old hates made him careless, and Turel delivered several spine crushing wounds had he been facing a mere vampire. But this creature's muscle and sinew body healed instantly, and the most powerful of Turel's strikes could do no more than knock him to his knees. Throat, spine, skull, all received wounds, but the creature fought on unheeding.

When he judged enough time had elapsed, Turel began allowing strokes to slip past his guard. He had not been told to live today. And even his murderer privately acknowledged that Turel was nothing else if not dutiful. Thus the final stroke punched through his chest, and he died to the sound of a rising gate, beckoning his killer on to the final, final battle.


	21. The Falls of Raziel

**The Falls of Raziel**

And then they were alone. Raziel, commander of the largest of the Seven Legions of Sarafan, awaited his fate. A fate that befell few. He was to be struck down by his own hand. Of course, others had fallen on their swords, some intentionally, some not, but his death would see the expression take on a new, more literal meaning. A vampire would no doubt consider it poetic justice, to have the Sarafan general slain by the vampire incarnation of himself, but Raziel brimmed with hate. Self loathing, for his vampire self, for the slaughter it had visited upon his Legion, and, soon, his brethren. Hate for Moebius, who had brought about this sorry state of affairs. Hate for himself, the Raziel who stood in this room now, for allowing this to happen. Hate for the anonymous vampire who would raise him from his rest in the centuries to come, so that he would become a reflection of the bloodthirsty fiends he had devoted his life to destroying. Hate for his brethren, who accepted their fates, forcing him to watch them die. Not brothers by blood, but tied together by bonds forged in battle, that hell from which the survivors emerged reborn. And here came a wraith, a demon, and worst of all, a vampire, to bring all this to an end.

His thoughts were interrupted by screams, pillar guardians crying for aid, and a familiar vampiric voice raised in challenge and mockery. It was a testament to the Sarafan Generals' despondency that this came as no surprise, and when Turel spoke, he sounded almost thoughtful.

"Vorador. I had never believed he would have the courage." They had never succeeded in killing Vorador, but they had come close, cutting him badly several times, to the point where he avoided conflict where he could.

"Hot blood breeds incaution." Zephon, broken, doomed man that he was, was proof of that. "We slew his sire." Raziel sighed. Despite lives dedicated to purging evil, they would leave vampires alive after them. With Janos' death, Vorador was the last surviving Elder Vampire, and none survived of the High Blood. "Do you think he'll escape the stronghold?" If Vorador fell today, the vampires would be crippled for generations, effectively decapitated. Then, they could claim their sacrifices had not been in vain.

Turel appeared hopeful, but that could easily be a façade. "If he does, he will bleed for it. Malek or Moebius will not be hospitable."

Raziel almost snorted in disgust, but restrained himself. "Do you think so? Moebius ever has his own agenda. We're caught in one of his machinations." He trusted Malek, but Moebius' betrayal in allowing them to die with the land uncleansed, however necessary, still stung. Turel, ever dutiful, shrugged.

"Whether he does or does not, there's little to be done now. We must accept our fate." Raziel couldn't help admiring such a perspective. It was true, but it ever had rankled him to accept another's will. He could endure being a pawn, but never willingly a puppet.

They heard, then, a gate lock nearby, and voices raised in challenge. Painfully familiar voices. Voices who shared their own fate.

"Come to take your revenge, demon?"

"Back to hell with you!"

So. The slaughter had begun. Turel, unable to listen to clashing steel, stood abruptly. "Our time wanes. Good luck." He moved to an embrace, a gesture so out of character for him that Raziel was instantly suspicious, an instinct which was proven right as Turel lunged at him with a dagger. He managed to get a blade to his throat, but Turel was quick too, and Raziel felt steel prick his own. He was stunned. Turel was always faithful, even through torture. Which made his betrayal now all the more jarring.

"I should have you strung from the fortress walls!" Raziel hissed, almost snarling. Turel, a traitor? Impossible? How had the vampires broken his mind?"

But Turel was smiling under the prick of steel.

"How unbearable. I should be executed by Sarafan Council tomorrow instead of murdered by our blue demon today. What a fate! I should become bored!" Raziel had to smile, but did not lower his blades until Turel explained further. Apparently, he had attempted the attack to draw Raziel from his depression. It had worked, briefly, but Raziel was recalled to his fate almost immediately by the falling armour. Melchiah or Zephon, now murdered. Nonetheless, he was grateful for the brief respite and thanked his comrade, aware as he was of the absurdity of the gratitude.

The second suit of armour fell, and the gate was heard rising, along with soft, quick steps. Dumah and Rahab rose and donned their helms, exchanging some final words, before challenging their foe as he entered.

"Have you come to reclaim the monster's black heart?"

"You'll have to get through us, first."

Turel looked at him. "Time is short. Go." And Raziel could do nothing but flee, clashing steel punctuating his escape. He wondered, then, what would happen if he turned back to fight alongside his brother, but the way back was sealed, so he ran on. Upon entering the Chapter House, the room of his death, he suddenly realised he had left his helm in Janos' vile Retreat. Some struggle of the beast had knocked it askew, and he had torn it free, and neglected to retrieve it as the building collapsed around them. He'd fight bareheaded, then. His murderer would know who it was he was slaying. Behind him, one suit of armour fell, then the other. Locks snapped open, and Turel raised his voice.

"Get back to the pit you crawled from, demon!" Then steel began to clash again. Like the others, Turel lent him time. Time preceding his death. Raziel readied himself. Eventually, armour fell yet again, the final clang resonating in his mind, a death knell preceding his fall. Then the same tread. This time, however, the step was measured, wary, giving Raziel time he didn't need.

_Come, demon. I want this done with._

And then his demon was there, portcullis slamming down behind him and sealing in his death with him. Although he'd known his slayer would be a spectre of himself, Raziel was unprepared for the sight by his brief glimpses in the retreat and through Moebius' scrying. It was as though he was looking out through the eyes of the Skull, or into a mirror while wearing Mortanius' death mask. This ravaged creature, muscle, sinew, and skeleton, was unlike anything he had ever seen, but it was undeniably _him. _A bitter joke, perhaps. Recovering himself, he spoke, not needing to feign the hate in his voice

"So, vampire...here we are." _I don't know what you are, but you are no vampire._

"You've destroyed my brethren-" _–damn you- _"-and now you've come for me. You'll find I'm not such easy prey." Such arrogance as he spoke. Empty threats were a part of vampiric clashes often. Then the corpse spoke.

"I don't want to kill you, but I will if I must." _Oh? You would spare me, then, leaving me knee deep in the corpses of comrades? I could never live with myself if I turned tail now._

The corpse continued, blissfully ignorant of his thoughts.

"Return the heart to me, and we can end this now." _You shall never have it, Raziel. I will not see my life's work in vain._ Even in his mind, addressing the corpse that stood before him by its true name was chilling. Responding, Raziel made his tone mocking with an effort.

"So you've come to avenge that filthy parasite, and reclaim his foul heart? You're a _righteous _fiend, aren't you?"

"Apparently I am." Raziel could appreciate the humour, bitter though it was. _So...he knows who I am, and who he himself is. So...shall I give him the heart?_

"_No, _vampire."-_shall ever command me while I draw breath._

"This is where it ends," _for better, or worse._

"-but you won't be leaving this room."_ Or will you? If Moebius is lying..._

"Now, let's finish this. I'll make it mercifully quick." _I hope._

"As you did for Janos?", the corpse interjected, misinterpreting.

Raziel laughed bitterly. His last triumph. "No, that beast had eluded us for far too long. It would have been a shame to end him too quickly." One grain of truth in his little speech. "It's ironic, really, the great Janos Audron turned out to be no challenge at all –thanks to _you._" _Ha. Even my vampiric self aids in the purge. For that, I can be proud of you, my friend. Now come, kill me. I tire of this._

"Did you hear his cowardly screams when I tore that black heart out of his carcass?"

His restraint broke, and the corpse charged his former self, reaver gained at such difficulty in his grasp. Stepping aside from the first stroke, Raziel swept his blade across his counterpart's eyesockets, a weak, quick slice, but nonetheless a maiming blow to a human, and incapacitating for a vampire, leaving them exposed for the follow up thrust to the chest. His corpse soaked up both strikes with barely a pause, and Raziel was surprised to feel a sword scraping off his armour. Not quite penetrating, not yet, but not far away. An instant later, he had to snap his head back from the same move, mirrored and turned on him. His brethren had fought a demon blind with rage, but they had dulled it, and now the demon fought with all its craft, awakened after centuries of never needing to use it, relying on vampiric and then wraith agility and strength. But while thecorpse still had those advantages, now he utilised his long dormant skill, granting his former self a respect he'd never shown to the others. However, the Sarafan Raziel had the advantage on his corpse in that he'd fought himself before, courtesy of Moebius' little conjuring trick, something of which the corpse had not had the luxury. So he was better able to turn aside the strokes seeking his blood and respond with counterstrokes. Unlike his brethren, he was fighting with more than a token resistance, anxious to prove to...himself...that vampirism was not godhood.

Corpse Raziel lunged, leaping around and over his counterpart to unleash attacks from every side. Spinning to face them, Raziel blocked and dodged, strokes sliding off his armour or his blade, countering with strikes he knew were in vain. He took a gash to the forehead, a light , not quite fully fended off stroke that impaired him little, fragile though he was by comparison with his future self. Corpse Raziel was incredibly quick, flitting around him using what appeared to be remnants of wings, dancing back and around his attacks with them trailing behind him like veils, as well as what appeared to be a faded banner wrapped around his face like a mask. Once, Raziel succeeded in turning around his adversary, and struck with all his might at his back, driving his corpse to its knees but failing to so much as gash the cloth. Lunging away, Corpse Raziel avoided the next strike, spinning in midair to land facing his adversary, before attempting to lunge back as Raziel attacked with a lunge of his own. Raziel's blade struck his counterpart's veil, piercing it and driving through the space where a jaw should have been. The momentum of the Corpse's lunge drove it deeper, through the throat beneath, emerging the back of the corpse's neck, between the muscles, through the bone. Raziel thought he saw shock in his Corpse's eyesockets for an instant, but he could not be sure. The wound healed instantly, the shher strength of the healing power forcing the blade out of the creature's neck to such and extent that Raziel was propelled backwards, almost losing his blade. The counterstroke almost caught him then, but he managed to cut it aside, the strike sliding off his shoulder plate, but impacting with enough force that he was numbed, forcing him to retreat further. His Corpse, stunned, charged him ferociously, and he was forced to retreat, on the defensive. But he smiled, infuriating his opponent. He'd proved his point.

_I had you then. Mortal, vampire, or wraith, had your blade not sustained you, I had you then. _

His back hit a pillar, and he could retreat no further. Fighting as best he could, he drove his adversary back to the centre of this, their arena, but he was tiring, and there his future incarnation ran him through. As the sickening drowning sensation filled his lungs, his corpse drew him close, dead, glowing eyesockets meeting eyes, living but not for much longer. And his corpse spoke.

"**I Renounce You."**

Had he been able to speak, Raziel could have returned the sentiment. As he fell, he noted with savage satisfaction the blade writhing like a snake in his murderer's hand, before twisting in his grip and impaling him.

_Hahaha...Moebius told the truth. Enjoy my doom, Raziel._

His consciousness fled.


	22. The Fall of the Sarafan

**The Fall of the Sarafan**

"So, Raziel, here we are, finally. You have no choice but to confront me now-and I am not so foolish as I've led you to believe. We have business to conclude."

Predictably, Raziel reacted with rage, spinning and stating the blindingly obvious. Moebius had to laugh when he was told "You knew I would lead the Sarafan to Janos, you vile bastard! You've been orchestrating my every move!"_ Oh really? And yet it does not occur to you that I might be doing the same now? _

Raziel proved irked by the laughter. "My destiny is an amusement to you?"

"It was fun, while it lasted." Raziel, sadly, did not pick up on the significance of that, advancing threateningly barehanded, prompting Moebius to speak to Malek, another he would betray.

"I think not, Raziel. Malek, do not let this creature leave. He poses a danger to the Circle." Malek, poor, dutiful, doomed Malek, hound of the Circle, stepped between Moebius and Raziel, loyally serving even to his comrades' deaths. Because he trusted Moebius. Moebius, for his part, continued his taunts.

"Poor, deluded Raziel...did you somehow imagine you had the guile to change history on me? _I'm_ the Time Streamer –I knew your every intention before you did, you imbecile.

_Come now, let your rage overrule your sense...take the obvious option._

Pillar Guardian screams suddenly reverberated through the stronghold, accompanied with panicked cries for Malek. Vorador had come to avenge his sire.

"Call your dogs-they can feast upon your corpses!"

Malek turned, duty bound, but Moebius restrained him, outwardly calm, inwardly writhing. Though it tore at his heart, he stuck to his purpose, despite Malek's pleas.

"Hold fast, Malek. This one is the real danger to us."

Raziel watched curiously. "What are you trying to concoct here, Moebius?"

_Don't worry...you'll find out. Now pick up that blade before the entire Circle falls! _In that moment, he didn't have to feign the hate in his voice.

"You toxic creature-" _Take it! Take it! _"Did you imagine I'd simply let you run loose, corrupting everything you encounter?" _Take it, you fool!_

"I admit I've underestimated you to this point, Moebius, but it's a mistake I won't repeat." And, while Moebius was reflecting on the delicious irony of that, Raziel _finally _picked up the damn sword!

"Wrong again, Raziel. Now Malek-bolt the door!" For a heartstopping instant, he thought he had left it too late, but the portcullis clanged closed just before Raziel could lunge under it. Their quickest route to the scrying room was blocked, and Malek being fleeter of foot, got there first. Moebius, wary of teleporting blindly into a room containing a hostile adversary, reached the room just in time to save Malek's life, as Vorador, seeing Moebius arriving bearing his dreaded staff, fled before he could deliver the finishing blow.

Malek, on his knees, leaning heavily on his broken spear, suffering wounds that would have killed a lesser man, sighed through his pain.

"I failed." _No. _

"No. I failed you. I should have foreseen this." Guilt rose, huge and suffocating. Malek could easily have cut him down then, even in his current condition, but he didn't, shouldering more of the fault than was his due.

"It's impossible to foresee everything, even for you. You foresaw one threat, playing the oracle. I should have foreseen the other. At the very least, I could have avenged the fallen. You can't shoulder all the fault."

"Nor can you, Malek. I held you to deal with what I believed was the true threat. I was misinformed." He could deflect blame from himself, but not to deposit it on his friends. And they were friends, decades of vampire slaying binding them tighter than any blood tie. Until now. Malek looked up.

"My role is to protect, not to obey, I could have left you to that creature's mercy and saved the others. But I didn't. Tell me, Moebius, does the service of your God seem so rewarding now?"

"My God?", Moebius asked, stunned. He'd been certain no one knew of that-even that debacle in his apartments could have been no more than acting.

"Don't play games with me, Moebius, not now." No title. Clearly, Malek was in no mood for games. And, sometimes, it was pure relief to tell the unvarnished truth for once in his pitiful existence.

"No...I admit, at this time, my service appears to have hollow rewards."

Malek sneered, exhausted and wounded though he was. "Ever the fatalist, _my Lord._ Very well...I listened to you through my own fault. I need not have trusted you and therein lay my downfall. I'll accept whatever punishment the remainder of the circle sees fit, but I'll play your games no longer. If you should ever need my protection, call, but if not, don't." He stood up and left to seek solace for his wounds. Moebius knew he would never see him again, that Malek was gone from him as surely as if Vorador had killed him. He never dared call him for protection.

Heavy hearted, he began organising the soldiers which soon arrived into cleaning up the corpses, before teleporting to the room he'd trapped Raziel in, and slowly following in his footsteps. The pillar guardians' deaths, while devastating, sat not so heavily on his conscience as the Generals. He had not directed _them_ to their deaths.

He came upon Melchiah and Zephon first, their corpses splayed on the ground, an ignoble end to noble men, dying for the cause they believed in. That he had made them believe in.

_All know of my reputation for deceit...yet, in person, who can I not convince? Kain, both incarnations of Raziel, even followers I repeatedly betray. Hah...What a gift. What a powerful, despicable gift._

He did what little he could for the two bodies, closing eyes and settling limbs in more dignified positions, moving them inside, beyond the reach of the carrion, before moving on, leaving them for the other soldiers to find.

Rahab and Dumah had met similar fates, and Moebius found his heart wrenching at him as he performed the same token service.

_-Why do this, Moebius? Don't let the sight damage your resolve._

_-No. I led them to this, the least I can do is watch the consequences._

And so he moved on, passing through the gates like a ghost, to behold Turel, similarly fallen. The token service, leaving him for the outraged masses to find. The Sarafan crusade would initially be re energised by the Falls, but without the Generals holding it together it would eventually fall apart, leaving Vorador as the only significant surviving vampire in Nosgoth, freeing vampires to recover until his mercenary army finished them off. But then of course, another vampire empire would arise, so, in truth, what had he achieved? Nothing. He'd cast down one vampiric empire, and eradicated its remnants, only to pave the way for another. That would prove to be the ultimate betrayal of the Sarafan ideals, at the behest of an all powerful 'God'. True, that empire would eventually be decapitated and dissolve into bitter faction fighting, allowing the humans to at last claim their land again., but at what cost? Crushing the thought, he moved on, arriving at the Chapter House in time to see Raziel fade away, Kain's last warning unheard. He counted to five, composing himself, before stepping out into the room.

"I confess, Kain, I was uncertain if I could play the same game twice, but you obliged me admirably. A vampire enters the stronghold and assassinates authority figures, reigniting ailing hatred of the vampires and igniting a fresh crusade. Does that sound familiar?"

Kain spun, initially shocked, but recovered swiftly.

"Your crusade will fall apart within a decade, Time Streamer. Don't attempt to avoid the fact that we've avoided your snare."

"You think so, do you? My snares are more complex than you may believe."

"Then why am I still alive?"

"You overestimate yourself, Kain. Raziel is the one with free will."

"And he has escaped you."

"Truly? Then where is he? Why is he not falling on my back at this moment?" To Moebius' delight, Kain appeared briefly discomfited.

"He will return."

"Self delusion, as ever, Kain. Raziel is far away at this moment. He lies beyond your influence."

"...I will find him, and you will regret playing your game-"

"Don't play the prophet with me, Kain! It's a role that ill befits you. You may have avoided my snare, but do not think for a moment that I have not accounted for this possibility. You will soon plead for scraps of knowledge, like a dog from his master, and they will be denied you."

"And so you admit that I have avoided your snare. And such an expensive one at that," Kain noted, indicating the corpse at his feet.

"Any more so than yours? You, too, sacrificed your sons for your own benefit, without a second glance."

"_Sons_, Moebius!?" Kain looked truly astounded, horror creeping into his face as well as suppressed rage, providing Moebius with another fleeting source of amusement amidst all this tragedy.

"Alas, only in spirit, Kain." Moebius sobered. "But each of us has had to watch others die to achieve their aims. The difference, is that I must suffer remorse." Nothing was at stake with this conversation, so he could be honest without fear of the consequences.

"Never think that my actions were without remorse, Moebius. Whatever I told Raziel, It pained me greatly to sacrifice my children." There was an odd understanding between them now, a lowering of masks as they acknowledged mutual loss. Then Raziel moaned at their feet, and rolled over.

He should have been long dead, by any assessment. One thing vampires knew was how to kill. But, apparently, Raziel had missed the Sarafan General's vitals, and he was still alive, somehow. Moebius flew to his side.

"May I grant you solace?"

Raziel looked up, voice and eyes hazy with pain. "End...it..."

"Should you do the honours or shall I?" Kain asked sardonically from behind the General. Moebius picked up Raziel's fallen sword and thrust it through his throat. There was not a twitch, not a sigh, just a collapse of a falling body. Wiping the blade on his robes, Moebius stood, sword in hand.

Kain looked down at the corpse, reflecting. "And so we come full circle." He knelt down to the corpse, the wealth of fresh blood too much to resist. And the blade that Moebius had held, flung like a javelin, punched through his shoulder.

"You soiled his corpse once, Kain! I will not see it done again!" Trembling with rage, heedless of the staff he carried which could see Kain helpless at his feet, Moebius drew a new sword, one he had carried for centuries, despite only needing to draw in anger twice in the last century. What his staff could not affect, his voice usually could. "Leave, Kain! Seek your son, and allow me to see to mine! I can't destroy you, but by God, I can make you wish I could!" Unrestrained rage from Moebius was something Kain had never seen before and would never see again, such a divergence from the cold, calculating Time Streamer that Kain stood up instantly.

"See to your children, Streamer." And he was gone.

Moebius arranged Raziel, before looking down at his drawn sword. He felt like shedding some blood, and he knew where to find some he need not shed tears over. As he appeared in the centre of Vorador's manor, he was the image of the great crusader Moebius again. Various brides stared at him in shock. Moebius smiled.

"Hello, ladies."

Abandoning the staff, he raised his blade, and began cutting them down. He couldn't find Vorador, but the vampire would know he'd been here. The heights of the Sarafan crusade was over, but they had earned their place in history.

* * *

And so it ends, folks. Thanks to everyone who has read this, especially my reviewers. I hope you enjoyed it.


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